The Algea
by eirenical
Summary: Sheila has watched Berger destroying himself for months and finally decides that she can't take any more of it. She's going to save him from himself no matter the cost... or the ultimate prize. Sequel to "Going Down."
1. Chapter 1

Been a while, huh? ^_^ Didn't think you'd gotten rid of me that easily, did you? Anyway, another new story, this one starts a new AU ficverse that splits off from the WDIG? set right after "Going Down." Very angst-ridden, but gets better by the end, I promise. ^_^ Written as a b-day fic for a dear friend who knows who she is. ^_~

**Title:** The Algea  
**Fandom:** Hair, the musical: 2009 Revival  
**Pairing:** Berger/Sheila, hints of Claude/Berger, Claude/Berger/Sheila, Claude/Jeanie  
**Rating:** PG-13 for some kissing, R for angst and trauma. Pick your poison. ^_^  
**Word Count:** 33,098  
**Warnings:** Slash. **Angst**. Holy hell, is there angst. O_O Sorry 'bout that. Rebound effect from 'Flesh Failures,' I think...

**Disclaimer:** Neither the musical nor the boys belong to me, if they did they'd be groping each other on sta-. *pause* *blinkblink* Huh. Look at that... they do. *eg* :D _((Hair was written by James Rado and Gerome Ragni with music by Galt MacDermot.))_

**Summary:** Sheila has watched Berger destroying himself for months and finally decides that she can't take any more of it. She's going to save him from himself no matter the cost... or the ultimate prize. Sequel to "Going Down."

**_Juy 16, 2010:_** So, this takes a little explanation, I think. A couple of months ago, back when I was struggling with "Donna," I decided that for 21's birthday, I was going to write her a fanfic. ^_^ In retrospect, probably should have been an "Alice" story or a "Primeval" story... but my muse speaks mostly in Claude/Berger these days and I wasn't up to fighting it. ^_^ Anyway, she had mentioned several things along the way that she would like to see in a Hair story - things that I generally don't include. So, I decided to write her a story with the few of those things that I could remember in it. ^_^ Of course, with my muse and the inspiration of the oh-so-angst-ridden Winchester boys egging me on, the story ended up far more angsty than I intended, but it's me, so what do you expect? ^_^ And it _ends_ happy, so that has to count for something... right?

**_Continuity:_** This story is still an AU... in fact, it's an AU _of_ an AU. O_o;;; Can't do anything simple, can I? :-P It splits off from the WDIG? ficverse right after "Going Down" and is, in fact, a direct sequel to that story. That, right there, ought to clue you in to the angst factor. O_O Things that are true in that universe are not necessarily true in this one and vice versa. In honor of the new 'verse, I decided to split off and use names that weren't Hair song titles - need to keep those for the WDIG? set. ^_~ Titles in the "Trinity" universe will be based off Greek mythology. Have fun looking up titles! (If you get really stuck and you want to know, though, feel free to ask, and I'll explain. ^_~)

And do remember... comments and reviews are love! ^_^

* * *

**The Algea: Lupe**  
_by Renee-chan_

The room is large, larger than any he's been in for longer than he can remember. There is enough room to pace a good ten steps in all directions. And there is a _bed_. He should be giddy with the joy of it, should be overcome with happiness at the freedom and luxury inherent in those two simple facts. He isn't.

It's too much space, too much freedom, too much luxury. Too much, too much, too much... and far too soon. He's afraid to leave the wall, the corner.

_Too exposed. You stand out too much. They would see you. They would **see** you... and that was bad. Badbadbad to call attention to yourself. Safer to stay in the corner._

And the bed! He hadn't seen a bed, a _real_ bed, in so long he didn't even remember what one felt like. And, oh, how he wanted to lay his weary body on it and _rest_. But that is bad, too. Such luxury items - like unspoiled food, unsullied water, clean clothing - they were traps, bait for the unsuspecting.

_Take the pretties, little soldier. That's right... Take the pretties and enjoy them, feast on them, revel in them. But come morning, we'll come to collect the price of these gifts, whether it's one you're willing to pay or not._

Safer... far safer to refuse those luxuries, no matter how the rotten food and brackish water cramps your stomach, no matter how cold you are in your torn, muddy clothes, no matter how your body aches from the hard ground. Safer. You lost far less of yourself that way.

And even the safety is a lie. He knows it. He's seen them, milling around outside his isolated room, looking in the window at him cowering in the corner. It's only a matter of time before they want a closer look... to see, to touch... to hurt. He knows their kind, knows them well. They act like they're here to help... to _help_. A bitter laugh escapes his lips. He knows better. No one in this G-d forsaken hell on Earth _helps_ anyone else. No one looks out for anyone but themselves.

The door creaks open and he freezes. There they are... five of them this time. Five... The last time there were that many just for him, it was bad. Badbadbad. So very bad. He knows he can't survive that again. Not again. Please, dear G-d in heaven - And G-d _must_ be in heaven, because He's sure as hell not here, not here, never here - not again.

Tense and shaking, he fights the instinctive need to run. If you run, you get punished and that'll be worse, so much worse than whatever they've already planned. And besides... it's useless. There's nowhere to go. As they approach, he makes himself as small as possible. The one in the brown suit frowns at the action. He whimpers. _Nonono, he didn't mean it! Whatever he did, he'd take it back if he could... Sorry... so sorry!_

The one in the white coat turns to the one who frowned with an angry scowl on his face. He pulls the other aside and speaks a few harsh words. The suited man gestures in his direction, voice raising more and more with each word spoken. He wishes he could understand the words, but he can't. Their meanings lie just beyond his grasp, somewhere in that time and place before he was damned to this hell. He can no more touch them than he can reach the stars.

The two finish their argument and the one in the white coat steps forward. He manages to hold himself still right up until the point when the man kneels down beside him and reaches out a hand to touch. And it's toomuchtoomuchtoomuch again. With a terrified cry, he jerks away, head banging hard against the wall behind him. He doesn't even feel the impact. He is too busy screaming as the other three men - large, muscular, no _way_ he can fight them - reach out and grab his arms and legs. He struggles anyway, desperately trying to break free, certain he won't survive whatever they have planned for him this time.

When the one in the white coat pulls out a syringe, his flailing intensifies, unintelligible pleas tumbling from his lips. The man and the syringe come anyway. Held immobile, he is helpless to stop the man's approach or the effortless sliding of the needle into his arm. Mere moments later, his body ceases its struggling, ignoring every terrified command sent from his brain.

When they feel his body relax, the three larger men lift him from his safe, little corner and deposit him on the bed. Next they secure his arms and legs in restraints. By the time the other two approach he is incoherent in his terror. And as the one in the white coat reaches out a hand to touch his forehead, he finally finds that little switch in his brain - the one that has saved what little sanity that he has left on more occasions than he can count. Desperate to get away in any way that he can, he flips the switch... and is gone.

* * *

Her body suddenly feeling as heavy as her heart, Sheila sank to the ground. It was already the second time this week that she'd had to drag herself up to Central Park to haul Berger's ass out of the threat of impending inclement weather. She couldn't keep doing it, especially with Berger getting more and more scattered with each passing day. The last time she'd gone to fetch him it had almost turned into a wrestling match in the mud. When he'd come out of whatever fugue he'd been in, he'd been all apologies and make-up sex, but the fact remained that he'd almost really hurt her. She couldn't go through that again.

Forcing her body upright, Sheila walked over to where Berger was crouched under the bridge, reading that blasted letter... again. G-d. Between Woof's certainty that Claude was coming back and Hud's accidental delivery of a letter from him saying the same thing... poor Berger just couldn't accept the reality of his friend's death. And it was killing him. She'd feel sorry for him, but Berger's slow death was slowly killing the rest of the Tribe. And Sheila needed them now more than ever... needed _him_ more than ever.

Kneeling down in front of her lover, she splayed a hand over the letter to block his view. He continued to mumble the words under his breath. Sighing, Sheila took Berger's face in both her hands and pressed her lips to his, willing him to some kind of response, **any** kind of response, that wasn't the mumbling of those desperate words. After a few seconds, the words cut off on a half-sob and he grabbed her to him with almost bruising strength, crushing their lips together in desperation. When they broke apart, Sheila ran gentle hands through Berger's hair and brushed the tears from his cheeks. Softly, she said, "Berger, honey... I miss him, too. I wish he was still here with us. More than anything, I wish that. You know I do." Cupping his face in her hands, she forced his bloodshot green eyes upwards to meet her earnest blue, "But this... Berger, this doesn't help. You killing yourself, destroying whatever is left of your sanity... he wouldn't want this, baby. You _know_ he wouldn't." Taking the letter gently from his hands, Sheila held it up, "He told you so, himself. He wanted you to live your life, to be better... to be whole."

Berger shook his head and pulled away from Sheila's hands. His voice was a harsh whisper as he responded, "I _can't_. Sheila, I **can't**." Before she could say anything in response, he spun back to face her, eyes desperate with the need to explain, "It didn't used to be this hard. I used to be able to make the pieces fit. But Sheila... they just don't anymore. No matter how I try to piece them together, the pieces don't make a whole anymore. I think... I think Claude took some of them with him when he left." He let out a small sob, "And now... now I don't know how to be a whole person without him. Sheila, he _has_ to come back. I can't do this without him, anymore."

Sheila sighed and pulled Berger's head down to rest against her shoulder, "Baby, do you think it's any easier for me? When we love someone else, that's what we do. We willingly give away pieces of ourselves and take pieces of those we love in return." Smiling softly, she added, "But you know something, Banana-Berger? Claude may have taken a piece of you with him when he left... but he left you a piece of himself in exchange. It's a piece you still have. And it may not fit perfectly in with your other pieces, but if you try, I'll bet you could make it work. In fact, I _know_ you can, because there's a piece of me inside you, too. And that piece of me won't let you give up that easily. OK, sweetheart?"

Berger lay still in her arms, absorbing her words as she steadily rocked him. Finally, with a small sniffle, he nodded against her shoulder. Sheila placed a gentle kiss on top of his crown of tangled curls, "Good. Then why don't we get you home, get you sobered up, and we'll talk more in the morning, OK?"

Wordlessly, Berger allowed her to pull him to his feet, no fighting this time. Silently, he let her lead him out of the park to the subway. Sheila would have worried more at his apparent docility, but she knew how much this battle of wills had cost him in strength. He was exhausted in mind, in body and in spirit. Much of his will, his passion for life, had gone with Claude. And though she might not be able to give him Claude back, if her luck held, she might at least be able to give him back some of that passion, give him another reason to go on living. It wasn't everything, but it might just be enough.

* * *

The next morning, Berger drifted around the apartment like a ghost, flitting from one object to another, eyes lost and glazed. It broke Sheila's heart to watch him. He'd been so full of life when they met, so full of passion. Sometimes she feared that he was destined, like those great minds of the past, to burn so very brightly... but for so very short a time. But, no. She had to show him that life didn't have to be so intense that it burned you up, that life could be quieter, but no less wonderful for that... that there were other ways and other reasons to live.

After an hour of watching Berger pace listlessly around her apartment, Sheila finally approached him. She guided him to sit on the couch and sat beside him. Gently taking his hand in hers, she raised her right hand to cup his cheek, "Berger, I need to tell you something and I need to know that you're going to hear me. This is important."

A soft snort and a shrug, "With you, it's always important. Why should this be any different?"

Frowning, Sheila patted his cheek - perhaps harder than she needed to, judging by the resulting wince, "I'm serious, Berger."

Sighing, Berger lifted his eyes to meet hers and nodded, "What is it?"

"I didn't want to say anything before now, because I just wasn't sure. And things have been so terrible, lately..." A single tear spilled over and ran down Sheila's cheek, "G-d knows, this isn't the best timing. Hell, it couldn't be _worse_ timing if it tried. But you don't always get to plan these things, you know?"

Feeling the sudden role reversal as Sheila started to fall apart, Berger started to shake, "Sheila...? You... You're scaring me. What are you trying to say?"

Taking a deep breath and wiping away the solitary tear, Sheila did her best to pull herself back together, "I'm sorry... I'm not doing this very well, am I?" Abruptly locking gazes with the younger man, Sheila said simply, "Berger... I'm pregnant. And it's yours."

Berger's mouth dropped open. For a full minute he just sat, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, staring at Sheila like she'd grown a second head. Sheila was just starting to really regret having been so blunt when Berger flung himself from the couch and started furiously pacing the apartment, hands buried in his hair and muttering under his breath. Sheila cursed under hers, "Wonderful. Brilliant job there, Sheila. Couldn't have fucked that up worse if you'd _tried_. Damn it."

Abruptly, Berger stopped his pacing and turned back to face her, a finger raised in accusation, "But... that's impossible! You said you were on the pill. I remember. It was that night we found out about Jeanie's baby. You said it! You _can't_ be pregnant!"

Of course, Berger's notoriously patchy memory _would_ remember that little detail. Sheila sighed, "I know, honey. Believe me, I said the exact same thing to my doctor. What she told me was that no method of birth control is 100% and that stress can always play a part in how your body reacts to things." Snorting, she added, "And I've been under a hell of a lot of stress lately, Banana-Berger."

Sinking back down on the couch, Berger let out a small whimper, "This is real?"

Sheila nodded, "This is real, Berger. It isn't a bad trip. It isn't a hallucination. It isn't a dream." Smiling softly, she said, "You're going to be a father."

Berger made a noise that was something between a laugh and a sob, "Well... ain't that a kick in the ass."

Sheila couldn't help a small laugh of her own, "It certainly is." As Berger just shook his head in amazement, she admitted, "I almost didn't tell you." Berger's head shot up, a look of betrayal on his face. She sighed, "Baby... you have no idea how awful it's been, watching you slowly destroy yourself. I was afraid that if I told you, it might be the thing that finally pushed you all the way over the edge."

Voice dropping into a whisper, she said, "There's this boy... I met him back in '67 when I went down to Washington for the march. He's been good to me, really supportive. And he wants to marry me. He didn't even care that I was still with you. He said he'd wait. And he'd be a good father, I know he would. He's kind and gentle, everything my mother ever wanted for me. And he would support us..." Looking up at Berger she shook her head, "But I don't want him, Banana-Berger. I want you." Breaking into a small sob of her own, she finished, "You're the only piece of Claude I have left, other than the small piece that I carry myself. When we're together it's almost like he's still with us. I want that. I _need_ that. And I want our child to have that. But I need you with me, _really_ with me, to make this work. No more drugs, not like you've been using them. No more wrestling matches in the rain. No more attempts to throw your life away."

Taking Berger's hand and placing it against her abdomen, Sheila smiled a watery smile, "She needs you whole. She needs you here. She needs _you_, Banana-Berger. Can you do that? Can you be that person? Do you even want to try?"

Berger was silent for a minute, hand gently stroking Sheila's abdomen through her shirt, eyes full of fear... and no small amount of wonder. Finally, he leaned forward, lifted her shirt and pressed a soft kiss to the spot just below her belly button. He then pressed his ear against that spot and wrapped his arms around her waist, stretching the rest of his body along the couch. She had to lean close to catch the words he spoke, "I want to try, Sheila. I just don't know if I _can_. Things are so broken now... without Claude. It wasn't just a piece of me he took with him. He took half my soul when he left. And the pieces... they're a complete jumble now that I can't make any kind of sense of. I _know_ I'm a mess. A sad, sorry, broken **mess**. Why would you _want_ me? Why would our child want me?"

Carding gentle fingers through Berger's curls, Sheila answered, "I'm not expecting you to be perfect, Berger. No one expects that. I know this won't be easy. I know it won't make you better overnight. But if you want to try... Berger, that's more ambition than I've heard from you since you were sixteen and trying desperately to seduce a recently matriculated me at the shore."

That last prompted a weak chuckle in response, "I was pretty strong then, wasn't I?"

Sheila smiled, "You still are. You always have been. You just got a little lost along the way."

Berger brought one hand forward to rest against her abdomen, the other still lightly encircling her, "I was lost long before I even met you, Sheila. I don't think I can find my way back anymore." He let out a bitter laugh, "Some damned bird ate all my bread crumbs."

Sliding a hand under his chin, Sheila tipped Berger's face up so she could look into his eyes, "Berger... you may never get back to where you were. You've grown, changed, since you were sixteen. But you can get to a better place than where you are. I _know_ you can. If anyone's strong enough to do it, it's you." Smiling, she added, "You can do anything. Right, Banana-Berger?"

After meeting her steady gaze for a moment, Berger's lips relaxed into an answering smile, "Yeah. I guess I can." He then planted one more soft kiss against Sheila's abdomen and sat up. Suddenly, he frowned, "There's just one thing I'm confused about."

Recognizing the opening notes to Berger's "Sheila-baiting" tone, Sheila rolled her eyes, but it had been so long since Berger was feeling well enough _to_ bait her that she was almost glad to hear him starting with her again. And she was so relieved that this conversation had gone as well as it had that she was ready to give Berger whatever answers he needed to whatever questions he wanted to ask... no matter how ridiculous, "What is it?"

Eyes lifting to meet hers with a gentle smirk, he said, "What makes you so sure it's a girl? It could be a boy, couldn't it? And even if it's not... can we still name it 'George?'"

In spite of knowing that she was being baited, Sheila still couldn't resist rising to it. Spluttering, she answered, "I don't know! And no we are _not_ naming our baby girl 'George.' Who the hell said we're naming her after you, anyway? I thought you didn't even _like_ the name 'George.' I was planning to name her Martina. Martin if she's a boy." At Berger's confused look, she sighed, "After Martin Luther King, Jr., Berger." Voice quieting, she explained, "Since Jeanie already named her son 'Claude,' I thought it would be too strange to name her 'Claudia'... and it'll be even worse if she _is_ a boy."

Berger was silent, eyes turning serious again, "Yeah, I guess that would be a little weird."

Sheila patted his hand, "We'll think about it. We've got another six months or so to figure it out. I'm sure we'll come up with something."

Eyes drifting downwards, Berger placed his hand back against Sheila's abdomen, a gentle smile gracing his lips, "Yeah... we'll come up with something. Something great. Don't you worry about that, little one. Somehow... somehow, we'll do right by you."

Greatly touched, Sheila leaned forward and pressed her lips to Berger's. He lifted his other hand to cup her face and that kiss... it was more sweet, more gentle than any they'd shared since they first met. For just a moment, Sheila could almost feel Claude in that kiss. And in that moment, she knew that she'd made the right choice... for _all_ of them.

* * *

Jeanie watched the pair on the floor with a gentle smile. She'd been beyond shocked when Berger showed up on her doorstep completely unannounced... and sober. She couldn't imagine what he could have wanted or needed from her, but she'd let him in anyway, too relieved to see him looking so well to truly care. They'd sat down at the kitchen table and Jeanie had made some tea. They'd danced around a completely inane conversation for about ten minutes as Jeanie waited for her friend to get up the courage to ask whatever it was he'd come to ask. He never got the chance.

Before long, Claude had crept out of his bedroom to see what was going on. And when he'd seen Berger... boy, oh boy, did he light up. He didn't get to see the older man often anymore, but he was always excited when he did. Jeanie had noticed it before - Berger's almost natural way with children. Maybe it was because he was so free, himself, and children could just relate to that. Either way, once Claude had identified his Uncle Berger, he'd bounded into the kitchen and demanded to be lifted into Berger's lap. Then he naturally had to fill Berger in on every detail of his life that he'd missed in the few weeks since they'd last seen each other. This then naturally led to a discussion of any new toys that Claude had acquired in that time and a request that he have some time with his Uncle Berger to show them off.

And now Jeanie was watching the pair on the floor of the living room, rolling a Nerf ball back and forth between them. Jeanie still wasn't sure why Berger had come over, or why he seemed so... with it... but she was beginning to suspect that this visit had less to do with seeing her and had more to do with seeing Claude.

Eventually, however, even Claude's extensive store of energy began to run low and he began rubbing at his eyes. When he saw his mother rise from the couch, though, he squalled in protest and latched onto Berger's neck. Berger's eyes went comically wide as he attempted to avoid being strangled without hurting the boy. He threw a desperate look Jeanie's way, eyes begging her to do something.

Jeanie just smiled and knelt down by her son. Putting a hand on the boy's head, she said calmly, but sternly, "Now, Claude, you know it's naptime. Screaming about it won't change it. And if you treat your Uncle Berger like that, he's not going to want to come back to see you. Is that what you want?"

Eyes wide and horrified, Claude shook his head. Jeanie smiled and gave him another pat, "Then why don't you say you're sorry and give him a hug and a kiss. If you're good about it, maybe he'll even tell you a story before your nap."

Claude's face immediately transformed into a broad grin. He turned back to Berger and solemnly said, "'m sorry, Uncle Berger. You still like me, right?"

Berger just smiled and pulled the boy close, hugging him and planting a kiss on his mop of blonde curls, "Of course, I still like you, squirt. It would take more than that to scare me away."

Beaming, Claude bounced in Berger's hold, "Then I get a story?"

Berger laughed as he turned to Jeanie, "Mercenary little thing, isn't he?"

Jeanie smiled as she stood up, "They all are, Karma-Berger. You've gotta watch your every step with them. They learn pretty quickly how to take advantage." As Berger stood with Claude still in his arms, Jeanie added, "For example... never tell a kid that they could do worse than something they've already done and it would be OK. They'll push the limits on it, just to find out where yours are." Then she plucked a now-sleeping Claude from a horrified Berger's lax grip and, laughing, took him down the hall to his bedroom to tuck him in for his nap.

When she came back, Berger was sitting on the couch, holding the Nerf ball and staring at it like it held the answers to all the mysteries of the universe. She walked over and sat down next to him. Softly, she said, "Why don't you ask me what you came here to ask, Banana-Berger?"

Letting out a self-deprecating laugh, Berger shook his head, "Man, where do I even start?"

Jeanie smiled and placed a gentle hand on Berger's knee, "The beginning's usually a good place."

"Yeah... I guess it is," Berger took a deep breath, then blurted out, "How did you know you were ready to be a mom? I mean, you weren't really mom material when you got pregnant, but now you're an old pro. How did you figure it out? Where'd you learn all the stuff you know?"

Jeanie laughed, "Oh, Berger... I learned by screwing up." At his incredulous look, she nodded, "It's true! When they handed Claude to me at the hospital and said, 'He's all yours!' I was **petrified**. I didn't know what to do with a kid! But I took him home anyway and did the best I could. And I'm sure you remember that I was a total basket case - you were here for most of it!" Shaking her head ruefully, she continued, "Crissy's mom gave me some books to read and I read them cover to cover - which gave me just enough knowledge to realize how badly I was fucking up. Man, Berger, I've never been so scared in my life. But you know something? In spite of everything, Claude thrived. He learned to walk and talk. He's a bright little kid, he's sweet and I love him with every fiber of my being. And because I'm so terrified of hurting him or screwing him up somehow... I don't. The rest is just practice."

Berger dropped his face into his hands and let out a small groan, "So what you're saying is that the best way to avoid fucking up is to accept that you _will_ fuck up and just do your best to learn from your mistakes? What kind of screwed up shit is _that_?"

Jeanie lifted her hand from his knee to rest it on his back and gently rub, "It's reality, Berger. It is what it is." After a small pause, she added, "But I can lend you my books, if you want to read them..."

Berger raised his head to meet her understanding gaze. Giving her a weak smile, he said, "Yeah... I think I'd appreciate that." He then sat up and leaned his head back against the couch, "There's... there's one other thing I wanted to ask you."

"Anything, Berger. What is it?" was her answer.

Voice dropping into a shamed whisper, Berger asked, "It hasn't even been a day and I'm gettin' shaky already. How the hell did you deal with it?"

"Ah..." Jeanie leaned back against the couch and sighed, "Not very well, I'm afraid. To be honest, I'm amazed that Claude is turning out as well as he is, all the drugs I did when I was pregnant with him. And I never did quite manage to kick my pot habit, just toned it down to the occasional joint. As for the rest of it... shit, Berger. All the poison you've been flooding your veins with this last year? I'm not going to lie to you. It's going to hurt like a wicked bitch getting it out of your system. And once it's gone, you can't go back to it, either, or you'll have to go through withdrawal all over again."

Berger winced, "That's what I was afraid you'd say. I've... I've seen people go through withdrawal before. It wasn't pretty."

"No... it isn't pretty. It's hard, Berger. But if you're serious about this... serious about wanting to get clean, about wanting to be a good father... you don't have a choice," Jeanie said.

Another sigh, "No... I guess I don't." Rolling his eyes to the right, he raised an eyebrow at the blond woman next to him, "And who said I was going to be a dad?"

Jeanie just laughed, "You did. Why else would you be over here practicing on my kid and asking me how I figured out how to be a mom?" Poking Berger in the shoulder, she added, "So, you gonna tell me when Sheila's due? Or do I have to guess?"

Jeanie watched the wildfire blush race across Berger's cheeks with great amusement. It had been a long time since she'd seen him well and truly embarrassed. Finally he mumbled out, "Sheila said something about us having six months to figure out a name, so I guess she's due sometime at the beginning of April...?"

At that comment, Jeanie let out a sudden burst of laughter. Berger lifted his head to stare grumpily at her, "What did I say?"

Jeanie just shook her head. When she finally got her laughter under control, she said, "Good grief... this Tribe's men are a little ridiculous about passing on their signs. Do you guys plan it on purpose or something?"

Berger just frowned, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Well, you're an Aries and your kid's going to be an Aries. And Clau-" Eyes wide, Jeanie, abruptly cut off what she'd been saying, ducking her eyes away from Berger's.

However, if Berger high was smart and observant... Berger sober was even more so. He pounced on that tidbit like a terrier on a bone, "How do you know that Claude's sign matches his father's? I thought you and his dad was only a one time thing... some crazy speed freak that was here and gone in a day." When Jeanie just blushed and stammered in response, Berger's eyes narrowed, "Wait a minute. January 22nd... Claude was born January 22nd..." Leaping to his feet, Berger stared at her in abject shock, "He's a fucking Aquarius. You're kid's a fucking Aquarius, Jeanie!" Abruptly, he started to shake, arms wrapped around his middle as he tried to get himself back under control, "You lied... All those years ago... you **lied**." Voice breaking over a small sob, he continued, "Why didn't you... Why didn't you say something? If... Jesus... maybe if he'd known..."

Jeanie stood up and wrapped her arms around him, tears freely spilling from her own eyes, "Do you think I don't ask myself that every G-d damned minute of every G-d damned day, Berger?"

Unable to respond, Berger just shook his head. Moments later, he gave in to a spate of heart wrenching sobs, burying his face in Jeanie's shoulder. She just held him and rocked him like a little child, desperately sorry that she'd destroyed what little calm he'd managed to find.

Eventually the tears slowed, but the heartbroken plea in his voice nearly undid her just the same, "I can't... Jeanie, I can't do this." Pushing away from her, he wiped almost angrily at his eyes, "The world doesn't make sense, anymore. I can't be a father. I can't... I can't be this person that Sheila needs!" A small whimper escaped his lips, "She needs me to be Claude for her. I can't... I never could! Only Claude could be Claude..." Voice dropping into a whisper, he said, "G-d, Jeanie... I miss him so much. I want him back." Then, dropping his face into his hands, he dissolved back into quiet tears.

Pulling him down onto the couch, Jeanie gently folded him into an embrace, saying nothing, just offering comfort. There wasn't much else she could do. She could fool herself into thinking that they just had to get him off the drugs, but even she knew it wouldn't be that easy. Sheila hadn't known him back in the beginning, back when he was still 'George.' He'd been falling apart even then. Having Claude's stability by his side that last year before the draft had been all that kept him together. That was why she hadn't told Claude about her son. He was a good man and he would have done the right thing and married her, but as much as she loved him, she also knew that Berger needed him far more than she did... and he had needed Berger just as badly. She couldn't let anything, even her child, stand in the way of that. How could she have known then that her act of self-sacrifice would have such horrific consequences?

Leaning back, Jeanie stretched out on the couch with Berger sprawled half on top of her as he continued to cry, broken and empty and _needing_ so very badly. Eventually, he fell into an exhausted slumber and Jeanie eased out from underneath him. Brushing his hair back from his face, she placed a gentle kiss on his cool cheek. What a fucked up mess this was... Sighing heavily, she pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over him then went into the kitchen to make a few phone calls. This battle was far from over and she was going to need reinforcements before it was through.

* * *

Berger went downhill quickly after that morning, so quickly that Sheila was afraid to even think of moving him. Jeanie was gracious enough to move out to the couch and lend them her bedroom, at least. Though that was probably just as much so that Claude wouldn't have to watch his Uncle Berger suffer through withdrawal as it was to give them a little peace. Whatever the reason, Sheila didn't care, she was just grateful.

The rest of the Tribe was also extremely supportive. Many of them came by to spell her whenever they could spare the time, trying to give her as many breaks as they could. The real surprise, though, was Woof. Always uneasy friends, they two had never spent much time together, but he'd been the staunchest support she could have asked for through Berger's withdrawal, along with Jeanie and Crissy. And he'd also been the deliverer of the most shocking news of all - the entire Tribe had elected to give up mind-altering substances to make this transition easier for their leader. To say that Sheila was stunned would have been putting it mildly. She was absolutely awed by that show of support, by the sheer love evidenced by that grand gesture.

That night, once Woof had left and Berger was asleep, she'd gone out to the kitchen, put her head down on her hands and just cried. Jeanie had found her that way and spent the next ten minutes just holding her and stroking her hair. She didn't ask why Sheila was crying - she didn't have to. She just held her and soothed her, and Sheila was never more happy to call the younger woman friend than she was on that day.

Three exhausting weeks later, the worst of it was finally over. It was a Saturday morning and Sheila was in the kitchen entertaining Claude while Jeanie made pancakes. Berger had crept from Jeanie's room to the kitchen doorway, robe clutched tightly about him, to quietly ask if there was enough for one more.

Claude immediately abandoned Sheila to glom onto his Uncle Berger's legs and demand to be picked up. And oh, the look on Berger's face at that request... It about broke Sheila's heart. He so clearly _wanted_ to do it, and just as clearly _couldn't_. After three weeks in bed fighting the symptoms of his drug withdrawal, he just wasn't strong enough. But before she could even start to come up with a way to explain that to a young child, Jeanie just calmly stepped in and explained to her son, "Sweetheart, you know that your Uncle Berger's been very sick. He can't pick you up right now." As her son's face fell, a wicked smile bloomed on hers and she added, "So you'll have to help him out, OK? He's going to need a lot of help until he's better. Do you think you can do that?" As Claude nodded vigorously, Jeanie's smile widened, "Good. Then why don't you start by pulling out a chair for him and getting him some silverware while your Aunt Sheila gets a plate and some coffee for him?"

Eyes still glazed with no small amount of pain, Berger said nothing as Claude did exactly as suggested. He just sat in the pulled out chair, watching the boy's every move with a haunted look in his eyes. After putting the plate and coffee down in front of him, Sheila brushed his hair out of his face and asked gently, "You OK, Banana-Berger?"

Berger just mutely shook his head and reached for the coffee cup, burying his gaze and his non-response in the steaming black beverage. It was completely unlike him, but Crissy - who'd read up extensively on the subject of withdrawal - had warned them all that that was more likely to be the case than not. That Berger would not be his usual self when he came out of this... and probably wouldn't be for some time.

It wasn't until Jeanie served the pancakes - each complete with a smattering of chocolate chips as a special treat for the occasion - that a spark of life came back into the deadness of Berger's expression. He was just lifting his hand to reach for the syrup when Claude made a horrified noise. When Berger spun to face him, fearful of what might be wrong, the boy was shaking his head back and forth and making slicing motions with his hands, "No, Uncle Berger! Mommy said you're sick! You shouldn't be picking things up!" Of course, in his two year old mind there was no difference between lifting a 33 lb. boy and lifting a 16 oz. bottle of syrup. Lifting was lifting and his mother had said that his Uncle Berger shouldn't be doing it.

Bemused, they all watched as Claude climbed down off his chair and climbed up his Uncle Berger's to sit in his lap. When Berger had reached down a hand to help, Claude had given him a stern look, shaken his head and continued with his climb unassisted. Once he was comfortably seated, he then reached for the syrup bottle and upended it over Berger's pancakes. And, of course, being only four months shy of three years old, _his_ idea of an appropriate amount of syrup was... a little different than Berger's.

With all of them staring at Berger's now swimming pancakes, silence reigned for almost three minutes as Claude used Berger's fork to meticulously cut up the now syrup-soaked pancakes - right up until the moment when Claude stabbed a piece of pancake and, eyes bright and proud, offered it to his beloved uncle. The pained look on Berger's face as he stared at the dripping piece of pancake, clearly trying to figure out a way to not have to eat it, was what finally set off the other two. Sheila and Jeanie burst out into almost hysteria-tinged laughter.

Berger would have done the same... except for the look on Claude's face. It had been so full of pride, so full of joy... and now it wasn't. The fork slowly drooped and his lower lip trembled. Seeing that, and feeling his own heart lurch with the pain of it, Berger finally started to understand. The most important thing about being a father was to love your children and to do whatever was within your power to make them happy... no matter what it might cost you. If you got that right, everything else would fall into place. Well, he'd done worse things and for far worse reasons. He could do this. Keeping his sigh strictly internal, he tapped Claude on the shoulder and opened his mouth. And the speed with which Claude's expression shifted back to delight was all the reward he needed. As he chewed each bite of the syrup-sogged pancakes, he just repeated to himself over and over that he was doing this for his Claude - for both of them - because he needed to be a good father, a good uncle, a better person... and this was the first step.

When breakfast was finally finished, with both man and boy as soaked in syrup as the pancakes had been, Jeanie quietly suggested that Berger go get cleaned up. Naturally, Claude jumped off Berger's lap, yelled, "I'll go turn on the water!" and took off for the bathroom.

As the girls sputtered back into giggles, Berger frowned and crossed his arms over his chest, "You did this to me on purpose, didn't you, Jeanie?"

Jeanie laughed as she retrieved the plates from the table, "You bet your ass, I did! You have no idea what a nuisance he's been this last month and how hard it's been to keep him out from under your feet. Now that you're up and about again?" She snorted, "He's all yours." Smiling sweetly and nodding at Sheila, she added, "It'll be good practice for you... for both of you."

Berger just groaned and let his head drop into his hands. Before either of them got to answer, however, Jeanie's eyes abruptly widened, "Oh shoot... Berger, you're going to want to go check on that bath... Claude's not allowed to turn on the hot water by himself..."

Biting off a curse and not willing to suffer through another of Claude's attempts to help gone horribly wrong, Berger took off running, Sheila and Jeanie's laughter echoing down the hallway behind him.

* * *

**A/N:** And now for some chibi silliness! :D

Claude: *stares* *splutters* *crosses arms over his chest* *fumes*

Berger: *sweatrain* Erm... Love? This is the after-fic silliness... you can talk here.

Claude: *glares*

Berger: O_O Or not. Totally your choice.

R-chan: For what it's worth, I really _am_ sorry about this one.

Claude: *eyes shoot daggers*

Berger: *twitch* What, no offer of "It gets better by the end, I promise?"

R-chan: Well, it does, but I don't think that statement goes over so well these days.

Claude: *still fuming*

Berger: *coughs* Ah... good point.

R-chan: *shrugs* Guess we'll all just have to wait and see, huh?

Berger: *sighs* *cuddles a Claude* Yeah... I guess we will.

Claude: *whimpers*

Questions, comments, papaya?

_**Coming Soon:**_ Berger comes to the painful understanding that Sheila needs more from him than to be there and makes the hard decision to step up to the plate to give her the support she needs... and heals an old, painful wound in the process.


	2. Chapter 2

And here's Part 2. Thought I'd try and crank this baby out early, because if I didn't do it now, it wasn't going to happen until tomorrow. ^_^

**Title:** The Algea  
**Fandom:** Hair, the musical: 2009 Revival  
**Pairing:** Berger/Sheila, hints of Claude/Berger, Claude/Berger/Sheila, Claude/Jeanie  
**Rating:** PG-13 for some kissing, R for angst and trauma. Pick your poison. ^_^  
**Word Count:** 33,098  
**Warnings:** Slash. **Angst**. Holy hell, is there angst. O_O Sorry 'bout that. Rebound effect from 'Flesh Failures,' I think...

**Disclaimer:** Neither the musical nor the boys belong to me, if they did they'd be groping each other on sta-. *pause* *blinkblink* Huh. Look at that... they do. *eg* :D _((Hair was written by James Rado and Gerome Ragni with music by Galt MacDermot.))_

**Summary:** Sheila has watched Berger destroying himself for months and finally decides that she can't take any more of it. She's going to save him from himself no matter the cost... or the ultimate prize. Sequel to "Going Down."

**_Juy 18, 2010:_** *coughs* I apologize in advance - the ending on this one is significantly more angst-ridden than the last chapter. That's just the way the chapter breaks fell out. O_O But it gets way better after this, I promise! *unsure but game smile*

And do remember... comments and reviews are love! ^_^

* * *

**The Algea: Akhos**  
_by Renee-chan_

Third time. Berger winced as he threw himself down on his favorite bench in Washington Square Park. This was the third time this month that he'd come back to the apartment to find Sheila at the kitchen table pouring over her bank book, no doubt hoping to find even a penny they'd left unspent. She'd slammed the book shut quickly enough when she saw him, though. Tossed him a nervous smile and made up some story about a project she was working on for school. She needn't have bothered. The truth was plain to be seen in her eyes. Her student loans and the little money she had saved were more than enough to cover her own expenses when Suzanne had been living here. But now? With Suzanne moved out, Berger moved in and a baby on the way? It wasn't even close... not by a long shot.

Unable to bear it as she tried to put a brave face on for him over her obvious fear, he'd fled the apartment. It wasn't fair to her. Any of it. Not this baby and not being stuck with him. It was times like these that Berger thought she'd have been better off with the other guy - the one who'd followed her from D.C. after the march. But that wasn't what she wanted. She'd made that abundantly clear. And so Berger was stuck, shamed into being on his best behavior in a desperate attempt to prove himself worthy of a responsibility he _still_ wasn't sure he wanted.

Only... that wasn't any easier now than it had been when he was sixteen. If anything, it was harder. Sighing, he slouched down on the bench and tipped his head back. What he wouldn't give for a joint right now, just a little something to take the edge off... but Jeanie had been right about that. That was one steep, slippery fuckin' slope and if he started back down it, even one step, he'd be right back down at the bottom in no time. So, no easy out for him. No shortcut. No escape.

Feeling his breath starting to quicken with the first edges of panic, Berger bent over and put his head between his knees, fighting to take deeper breaths. He hadn't had anxiety attacks like this since he was sixteen... since he'd met Sheila. He'd somehow known that she could take care of things, could lift those hated responsibilities off his shoulders. And G-d bless her, she was still trying. Deep down, though, he knew it was wrong, was unfair. He wasn't a child. He was a man. And _as_ a man, he shouldn't be looking for her to take care of him... he should be taking care of her - of her... and of their baby. And once that realization was there, it wouldn't go away. Thus, the renewed panic attacks. And they'd been getting worse these last two months, not better.

Finally calmer, Berger forced himself off the bench and started pacing. He had to do something, _anything_ to try to fix this. But what could he do? He was seriously lacking in skills and reliability and his getting expelled from school was _not_ helping him find a job. But surely... surely there had to be something he could do. He just had to figure out what.

* * *

Jeanie all but jumped out of her skin at the sudden flurry of loud banging on her door. Cursing quietly but vehemently, she put her cup down on the table to wipe at the puddle of tea that had splashed down her shirt, "Hold on a minute!" When the knocking came again, this time louder and more desperate, Jeanie yelled out, "I'm coming! Jesus. Keep your pants on!"

By the time she got up and got the door open, Sheila all but flew into the apartment, eyes wild and frantic energy just about rolling off her. When her gaze locked on Jeanie, she grabbed the other woman by the arms and said, "It's been two days now and I can't find him anywhere! Jeanie, do you know where he went?"

Stunned and confused, Jeanie just shook her head, "What...? Sheila, what the hell are you talking about?"

Sheila's grip tightened, then abruptly loosened as she slumped, "Berger's gone, Jeanie. He didn't tell me where he was going, didn't tell me when he'd be back. And I checked all the usual places. He's not in any of them. It's like he just disappeared." Falling back against the door, Sheila dropped her face into her hands, "He was doing so _well_. What the hell happened, Jeanie?"

Leading the distraught woman further into the apartment to sit on the couch, Jeanie did her best to comfort her, "Sheila... we shouldn't assume the worst."

Sheila's head shot up at that, her lips pulled down into a frown, "This is Berger we're talking about Jeanie. 'The worst' is his specialty."

Jeanie sighed, "Well... that's true, but still. Have a little faith, OK? He _has_ been doing well. Maybe this isn't what it looks like." At Sheila's continued look of disbelief, she asked, "Well, what happened? Do you have any idea what prompted him to take off?"

Letting out a small groan, Sheila nodded, "I do have some idea..." Sinking back against the cushions, Sheila winced, "Things... they've been a little tight lately. What with the doctor's visits and vitamins and needing bigger clothes - _you_ know." At Jeanie's nod, she continued, "Not to mention that with Berger living with me full time, Suzanne ended up moving out. She knew we'd need the space and she and Walter have been getting more serious, so..." She shrugged, "It just made sense. But now..."

Understanding filled Jeanie's eyes, "But now you only have one income paying for rent and expenses not two."

"Exactly," Sheila lifted a hand to rub at her temples, "And we haven't even begun looking at all the things we'll have to buy for the baby once she's born."

"Well, you know that you can have whatever of Claude's you need, right?" was Jeanie's answer.

Finally a smile, small but real, "I do know that, Jeanie. But still... diapers, formula, doctor's visits... it all adds up. We'll be OK. Somehow I know we will, but I can see how badly Berger feels about it. He's still not sure about this whole fatherhood thing and to have financial difficulties thrown on top of it? It's more stress than he can really handle. I've tried to keep the worst of it from him, but..."

"But he isn't stupid. Right?" Jeanie said.

Sheila sighed, "Exactly. And somehow that keeps slipping my mind. Maybe we'd have been better off if I'd just talked to him about it, tried to tell him it would be OK... but he's too smart for that, too. And I'm afraid of what that stress may have driven him to do, Jeanie. I really am." She shuddered, "Getting him through withdrawal once was bad enough. I can't... we can't go through that again."

Jeanie nodded, "I hear you. OK. Why don't we ask the rest of the Tribe if he said anything to them?" At Sheila's dubious look, she continued, "Well, if he isn't in the usual places it's going to be harder to find him. Before we go through all that, let's try the easier route first, OK?"

At Sheila's hesitant nod, Jeanie smiled and patted her knee, "It'll be OK, Sheila. For some reason... I don't have a bad feeling about this. I know it looks bad, but somehow I think it's not. So just relax, OK?"

Sheila took a deep breath and slowly let it out. It wasn't often that the younger woman was wrong about things like this. She'd always had a finger or two on the Tribe's pulse and always seemed to know when one of them was in trouble. She might not be as spooky about it as Woof was, but there was a definite karmic connection between Jeanie and the rest of the Tribe. If she wasn't worried... Taking another deep breath, Sheila nodded again, "OK. We'll call the rest of the Tribe. Maybe one of them will know where he is. But if no one does, I reserve the right to panic, again."

Jeanie laughed as she picked up the phone to start her way down the calling chain, "That's fair, Sheila. That's fair..."

It wasn't until two hours later, when she figured out that not only was Berger missing, but Woof was, too, that Jeanie started to feel an edge of panic herself. But that wasn't going to help matters. Sheila needed to stay calm. A woman at this stage of pregnancy could still miscarry. And that, of all things, would be the worst possibility. Eyeing the other blond as she sat on the floor playing with her son, Jeanie made a monumental decision. Hanging up the phone, she put a sunny smile on her face, looked Sheila right in the eyes... and lied, "Well, that's that. He and Woof took off for a couple of days on a little mini-vacation. Nothing to worry about, see?" Letting her face fall into a grumpy expression, she crossed her arms, "Still, would have been nice to leave a note. Woof, at least, ought to know better."

Sheila's eyes widened, then narrowed. One hand clenched into a fist and she let out a low growl, "I don't care how much I love him. When he gets home, I'm going to kill him."

Claude eyed his Aunt Sheila, then slowly inched away, dragging his toys with him. When she caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, Sheila twitched, then lowered her hand and started to laugh. At that, Claude abandoned his toys and got to his feet to run and hide behind Jeanie. That set Jeanie off. Claude looked back and forth between the two women as each gave in to their hysterical laughter. As a minute passed with neither showing any signs of stopping, his lower lip jutted out and started to tremble. Seeing no response from either woman to the signs of imminent water works, Claude let out a little sigh, gathered up his toys and went into his room to play by himself. Sometimes adults just made no sense.

* * *

He couldn't do it. That was what it boiled down to. Now that he was here, he just couldn't do it. But when he turned to leave, Berger ran straight into Woof. The older man caught him at the shoulders and just shook his head. Berger tried to plead his case, "This was a mistake, man. One big-ass mistake. I can't do this! Let's... let's just go home, OK? I'll find another way."

Woof just smiled and pulled Berger's head down to plant a gentle kiss on his forehead. Just as softly, he spoke, "George... There _is_ no other way. Move your ass."

Stunned by both Woof's words and the use of his given name, Berger allowed himself to be turned around and propelled up the walkway. In that one, simple statement, Woof was trying to remind him of exactly why he was here, why he was doing this. Quite simply, he had no choice. The time for playing around, the time for selfishly putting his own needs first, was over. Berger had had a good run, but Sheila no longer needed a Berger... she needed a George. And if this was what he had to do to be that man for her, to provide for her and their child... Woof was right. There was no other way. Raising his hand, he knocked on the door.

There was no immediate answer. Berger waited for two pounding heartbeats, listening intently, then let out an unsteady breath and an even shakier smile, "Oh well. They're not home. Guess we'll have to come back another day, huh, Woof?"

The other man just sighed and rolled his eyes, "Knock _again_, Banana-Berger."

Heart pounding in his throat, Berger turned around to do just that, but never got the chance. The door opened under his hand to reveal a young woman of about sixteen years. She had thick, dark hair and deep, green eyes. And Berger didn't know her, had no idea who she was. She, on the other hand, most definitely knew _him_. She raised one hand to her mouth to cover her startled gasp while the other reached out almost desperately to tangle in the fringe of Berger's jacket.

They stood frozen in that tableau for several heart-pounding moments, neither able to move or talk. To Berger's surprise and everlasting gratitude, it was Woof who broke the silence. In a quiet, soothing tone, he said, "If I remember right, it's Samantha, isn't it?" At the girl's shocked nod, he broke into a sunny smile, "I don't know if you remember me or not, but we spent a day at the shore together once."

Before the girl got a chance to answer, however, Berger had - unfortunately - found his voice. With a snort of derision, he said, "You're not Sammy! Sammy's a little kid and you're a.. you're a..." At that, his voice failed him and he made the shape of an hourglass with his hands in the air.

The girl's expression immediately fell from shocked pleasure into disgruntled ire. But she left that one hand firmly entwined in Berger's fringe, just the same, as though afraid to let go. She let the other hand drop to her hip, "You haven't been home in four damned years!" Her voice softened, "I grew up, George."

Berger stared at the girl for another minute, shocked eyes taking in all the changes as he tried to figure out if she could possibly be telling the truth. The last time he'd seen his sister, she'd been all of twelve - a little kid. There was so very little left of the bratty little girl that he'd loved in this young woman... except in her eyes. Those deep green eyes had a spunk and spirit he remembered well and even now they were working their magic to manipulate him. He could feel it, those tiny little tugs on his heart strings, as she started to exercise a girl's G-d-given talent to twist her big brother around her little finger. No less susceptible to it now than he'd been four years ago, Berger found himself giving in without much of a fight. Raising a shaking hand to cup her face, his eyes full of wonder, he said, "Sammy... That's really you, isn't it?" The wonder drained away to be replaced with sorrow, "How did I miss so much?"

Samantha just shook her head, her own eyes brimming with tears, "Oh, who cares about that, now? What matters is that you're **home**." She finally released the hold she had on Berger's jacket and threw her arms around his neck in a chokehold hug, laughing as she did, "Mom and Dad will be so happy! We've missed you, George. _I've_ missed you."

Gingerly wrapping his arms around the girl's petite frame, Berger let some of his own tension drain away, "I've missed you, too, Sammy. I've missed you, too. I'm sorry it took me so long to come home. I should have made this trip years ago."

And Woof, that smug bastard, just stood behind them beaming the whole time.

* * *

Two hours later, they were sitting around the kitchen table, Woof chatting with Sammy while Berger sat back and watched. He would interject a question now and then, but this whole day, this whole _adventure_, just seemed too surreal. On the one hand, he felt like he didn't belong - didn't belong in this house, with these people, in this life. On the other hand... it was as though this was what he'd been looking for the whole time. Like Dorothy, he'd had to go to Oz just to discover that the secret to happiness had been in his own backyard the whole time. It messed with his head.

A sudden burst of laughter brought his attention back to the pair at the table. Woof had said something that Samantha apparently found extremely funny... and embarrassing, if the blush on her face was any indication. Berger leaned forward, interest peaked, "Sammy...?"

Her blush deepened, but she did look up to meet his eyes, "Oh... it's nothing..."

Turning to look at Woof, he raised an eyebrow. Sister-baiting... not as challenging as Sheila-baiting, but potentially just as fun. For the first time since deciding to come here, Berger's mouth relaxed into a true smile. Not being stupid, himself, Woof quickly caught on, "Oh... I just asked your sister if there was anyone special in her life."

Anyone special... Berger was surprised at the immediate pulse of protective anger that flared within him at that thought. The thought of someone doing with his little sister the kinds of things he did with Sheila... Never mind that he'd been younger than she the first time _he'd_ done those things... Wait. Forcing his thoughts to a halt, Berger took a deep breath. Wrong thoughts. Those were _George_ thoughts. He didn't need George thoughts. He could be a loving older brother without being a George. He _could_. Because Berger was a loving brother, a loving friend, a loving... lover. He protected his Tribe, he led his Tribe, he provided for his Tribe. And he did all of it while being Berger. He didn't need "George" to be those things. No... he _didn't_ need George. Looking back at Sammy, he let himself take in the conversation with "Berger's" eyes and ears and thoughts. Suddenly, he smiled. He _had_ been younger, younger by a year, maybe even two. And it was just love. Love. And who was he to deny that to his sister? Reaching out a hand, he clapped her on the shoulder, "Good for you, Sammy! Is it a boy or a girl? Or a boy _and_ a girl?" As her blush deepened and her mouth dropped open, his grin widened, "Maybe two boys? Oooo... maybe two _girls_?"

At that last, she made a sound like a kettle of boiling water releasing steam and raised her hands to start beating him about the head and shoulders. Laughing, he easily caught her wrists and dragged her down on top of him to start tickling her. She wasn't as easy to pin now as she'd once been, though. It was with a small note of pride that he realized that she'd become a wiry little thing and was managing to twist herself around in such a way that she was able to get in a few good tickles of her own. Woof wisely pushed his chair back out of the way... and not a moment too soon.

With a resounding "crash," he and Sammy ended up toppling his chair over backwards. With a shriek of pure glee, she took advantage of his supine position to attack the sensitive spots at his sides and he immediately curled over to protect them. It took only a moment's struggle to get back upright and reach for the back of her knees.

And that was the scene that greeted Jack and Elaine Berger when they finally returned home and walked into the kitchen. Being as neither made a sound, it took a moment for their children to notice that they'd arrived. But when they did, Berger froze. His sister, noting his sudden stillness, quickly figured out what must be the cause and climbed off his lap to kneel behind him and wrap her arms around him. Hooking her head over his right shoulder, she smiled softly up at her parents, "Mom... Dad... look who finally made it home for dinner..."

It didn't take more than a minute for Elaine to let out a breathless squeal of happiness and join her children on the floor. Buried between the two females busily trying to hug him into submission, Berger could only smile up at his father in bemusement. Jack smiled softly back... and to his son's everlasting shock, dropped down on the floor to join in the group hug.

However, as much fun as it was, and as relieved as he felt, Berger couldn't help but feel that something was horribly wrong in this situation. It only took one look up at the table to figure out what it was. Smiling a smile of pure mischief, Berger reached out a hand, grabbed Woof by the ankle and with one strong yank, pulled him off the chair and down onto the floor. Fortunately, Woof didn't need to be told twice anymore that he was wanted and flung himself into the hug pile with joyful abandon. Barely a minute later, he and Berger simultaneously threw back their heads and howled with pure delight.

When they finally all emerged from the pile and got back to their feet, Jack announced that as a special treat for the special occasion, he would make his "special" macaroni and cheese. In all innocence, Woof had then said, "Oh! Me and Berger make 'special' things, too! But we generally stick to brownies."

Jack and Elaine stared at Woof for a moment before turning to exchange glances with each other. After a moment of silent communion, they then burst into laughter. Berger just groaned. Pulling Woof aside, he explained, "Woof... he doesn't mean the same thing we mean when we say 'special.'" As Woof's face fell, Berger pulled him into a comforting hug, "It's OK, man. Don't sweat it. I'm twenty and I don't live here anymore. It's not like they can ground me for it."

Sammy piped up next in a desperate bid to shift the subject, "OK, George... one thing I gotta know. What's with the whole 'Berger' thing? Are there that many Georges where you live?"

Now it was Berger's turn to freeze. He wasn't really ready to answer that question, didn't know if he'd _ever_ be ready to answer that question for his family. Woof lifted his own arm to rest it around Berger's shoulders and gave him a little squeeze. Turning back to the other three, he then said the things that Berger couldn't, "No, there aren't that many Georges. Berger's his Tribe name... his true, inner name, like Woof is mine." He then turned and placed a soft kiss on Berger's temple.

Jack cleared his throat, "Well... that might get a little confusing... calling you by our last name at family reunions..."

At that, a wicked smile bloomed across Woof's face, "Well, how about Banana-Berger?" At the uncertain look on Berger's face, Woof continued, "Or Karma-Berger?" Now Berger's eyes narrowed, silently trying to glare him into submission. Woof wasn't having any of it, "Or there's Crissy's favorite - Unzipped-Berger. Or Pull-'em-Down-Berger. Or Take-'em-off-Berger. Or Se-" At that, he abruptly cut off what he'd been about to say, ducking his head.

Berger quietly finished the litany for him, voice half-choked in his throat, "Or Sexy-Berger..."

Sensing that something had changed the lighthearted teasing into something else, but not understanding what, Berger's family stepped in closer, supportive. Elaine reached out a gentle hand to rest it against Berger's shoulder, "Sweetheart...?"

Ignoring her, Berger continued, eyes glazing with pain and words tangling with a sob in his throat, "He... He always did... He always did like that one... Didn't he?" It was painful, watching him fight for calm, try to wrestle that pain back under control, so as not to expose it to his family. Finally he buried his face in Woof's neck, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

Woof just wrapped his arms around the younger man and gently rocked him, "Yeah. Yeah, he did." After a moment, he titled Berger's face upwards and let a gentle smile light his own, "I... I always did, too."

Berger just shook his head. Too soon. It was too soon for that. Woof sighed and nodded, gently wiped the tears away with his thumbs, placed a soft kiss on Berger's forehead. Berger drew in a shaky breath, excused himself and bolted for the bathroom. The second he was gone, his family rounded on Woof, eyes bright with worry.

Woof held up a hand to forestall the questions, "I can't... look, it's complicated, OK?" Eyes pleading, he said, "And it's not really for me to tell." Finally he sighed, "A really good friend of ours... he... we got a letter from his mother a few months ago that he was... lost... in 'Nam."

Elaine was the one who said it, "A 'really good friend,' huh? How... How good a friend?"

Woof just turned his best set of puppy-dog-sad eyes on her, "Really good, Mrs. Berger. And closer to Berger than any of the rest of us. OK?"

Understanding in that kind of insight flash that mothers are famous for, Elaine's eyes filled with tears and she ran off down the hall after her son. Jack and Samantha still looked confused, but Samantha put a hand on her father's arm to prevent him from asking any other questions, "Dad... Woof's right. It's not his to tell. Geo- He'll tell us when he's ready, OK?"

Not liking it, but submitting to his daughter's will nonetheless, Jack wordlessly turned to the refrigerator and started pulling out ingredients for dinner. Samantha pulled Woof into the living room. Linking her arm gently through his, she asked quietly, "I... I understand that you want him to tell us these things himself, but... I thought he was dating that girl he met at the shore...? Sandy?"

Shaking his head, Woof said, "Sheila." At Samantha's nod and questioning eyes, he sighed, "He was. Still is. But Claude... Claude was special. Different. He..." Voice roughening, he said, "We're still not sure that we aren't going to lose Berger, too."

"But... but he seemed so..."

A soft sigh, "It's an act, Samantha. He's putting on an act for you. He's putting on an act for all of us. Jeanie and I are the only ones that really see it, though. And he's _trying_. He's trying so very hard because he knows we need him, but..." He shrugged, "He's in pieces. And he's getting worse again, not better."

"I see..." Samantha awkwardly lifted a hand to pat Woof's shoulder, "Well, I can't speak for my parents, but I'll do whatever I can to help, OK? I love him and I've missed him and I want him back in my life, however I have to take him."

Woof smiled in gratitude, "I appreciate that, Samantha."

Sighing, she said, "Oh, I give up. It's Sam, OK? Samantha... Samantha belongs on a high society girl."

At that, Woof snorted out a laugh, "Your parents really didn't do a great job with names, did they?"

She laughed in response, "No... I guess they didn't."

At that point, Berger and Elaine joined them in the living room. Berger still looked shaken, but he put on a smile for the others. Woof stepped away from Samantha and enveloped his friend in a hug. Feeling the small shudders still running through the other man's frame, he sighed and stepped back. This was starting to feel like those times in the past when Berger would attempt to be 'George' for him again and end up falling to pieces for days thereafter from the strain. They couldn't afford that kind of a backslide. Not now. Taking Berger's face in his hands he forced the younger man to meet his eyes and said as firmly as he could, "Stop. Berger... just _stop_. You don't have to try so hard, OK?"

Eyes haunted, Berger shook his head. Samantha then stepped up and wrapped her arm around his, resting her head lightly on his shoulder. When he looked down to meet her eyes, she smiled, "He's right, you know. We're your family. You're stuck with us whether you want us or not, no matter what you do. Haven't you figured that out, yet... Banana-Berger?"

Wrapping the girl in a tight embrace, Berger nodded against her hair. Feeling another hand gently rubbing circles around his back, Berger reached behind him and pulled his mother forward to join the hug. Seeing his friend relax, Woof felt something in him relax, too. This was going to be one hell of a rocky road, but at least they'd taken the first steps. It was a start.

* * *

Hearing the quiet "snick" of the door lock opening, Sheila's heart gave a hard lurch in her chest. Berger. That had to be Berger. No one else had a key to her apartment. It had been almost three days since he and Woof had taken off on their little jaunt to wherever. Of course, he would choose _now_ to come back. She didn't want to scare him back out the door before she had a chance to talk to him! Desperately, Sheila closed the bank book that she'd been going over and tucked it underneath her on the seat... just in time for Berger to walk into the room and catch her doing it. They froze in that tableau: Sheila unwilling to rise from her seat and Berger unwilling to take another step in from the doorway.

Finally, Berger gave a small snort of a laugh and shook his head, "This is no good, Sheila. You _know_ it's no good."

Sheila swallowed hard around the sudden lump in her throat, "You... Banana-Berger, what do you mean?" After a small hitch in her breathing, she waved a hand around the apartment, "You mean this? Us? We... do you mean _we're_ no good?" Ducking her head, she whispered, "Berger, we _have_ to be. I can't do this without you."

A gentle hand under her chin forced her to raise her gaze. Berger was down on the floor in front of her, earnest apology shining his eyes. Once he had her attention, he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. And the look on his face... it was almost painful for Sheila to see it. He looked so sad, so defeated... and yet there was something else there, too. Narrowing her eyes, she finally decided that it was determination. Determination... and a hint of pride. His lips fell into a sad, mocking, self-directed smile, "Sheila... no. That isn't what I meant." Reaching underneath her, he pulled out the bank book and held it up, "_This_ is no good."

Sheila moved to interrupt, to make a grab for the book, but Berger stood and held it just out of arm's reach. He gently shook his head, "Sheila... I'm a mess. You know I'm a mess. I know I'm a mess. _Everyone_ knows I'm a mess. But I'm not blind, I'm not stupid and I'm not a child. This won't work if you keep treating me like I'm all three." Humbled by the simple truth of that statement and ashamed that she'd let herself fall into that trap in the first place, Sheila could only nod. Satisfied, Berger put the book down on the table and said, "We're in trouble. Your student loans barely cover half of what we need. _I know that._" Sighing, he sat down at the table and dropped his head into his hands.

Sheila finally found the strength to get out of her chair and walked over to stand behind Berger. Draping herself over his back, she wrapped her arms loosely around his shoulders and pressed her face next to his, "Berger... I know how hard this is for you - getting sober, putting yourself back together..." She paused, ultimately deciding not to mention the large, pink elephant in the room - reminding Berger of Claude's death when he was doing so well holding it together at this moment wouldn't help anyone, "...I didn't want to worry you. I'll figure something out. Somehow."

Berger sighed, rubbed his hands over his face and twisted around to look her in the eyes. After a moment of silent communion, he reached up and pulled Sheila down into his lap. Once he had her securely settled, he shook his head, "I'm not going to lie to you. One of the things that originally attracted me to you was that I knew you could take care of me... that you _would_ take care of me. And a very large part of me would like nothing more than to let you keep doing it forever." Taking a deep breath, he continued, "But that's just it, Sheila. I can't... I can't just sit back and let you take care of all the hard stuff. Not anymore. I... I see that. It scares the living hell out of me, but I do see it." Looking up into her eyes, his own firmed with resolve, "I'm going to be a _father_, Sheila. And fathers take care of their families. They protect their children, make them happy... no matter what it takes." Smiling softly, he let out a small snort, "That's not saying I'm going to be perfect. Hell... I'm probably going to fuck up left and right. You'll probably be mad at me all the time." His voice quieted, "But you know what, Sheila? I'm gonna try anyway. I _have_ to." Placing a gentle hand against Sheila's abdomen, he said, "For her."

Seeing Berger's eyes fixed so securely on where his hand was resting, hearing that sincerity in his voice, Sheila's next breath shuddered in her throat. He meant it. Every word. She could see it in his eyes, that quiet core of strength. And for once... for the first time... she let herself believe that she could rely on that strength - the way Woof did, the way Jeanie did... the way Claude did. Feeling the gentle support of it underneath her and finding that, for now at least, it would hold her weight, Sheila took in another deep breath... and burst into tears.

Berger held her, gently rocked her through that storm of emotion, all the while silently cursing himself that he'd let them get to this point. He didn't know what he could have done differently up until now, didn't really think he _could_ have done anything differently, but from this point forward, he was going to try harder. He might never be able to be a "George," not really, not where it counted, but he could try to take some of that responsibility back off of Sheila's shoulders just the same.

When Sheila's tears finally slowed and she lifted her head from his shoulder, Berger offered her a small smile and a quick kiss on the nose. Her eyes crossed a little at that and she let out a small laugh. Seeing that smile again... Berger had to smile, too. It wasn't... G-d it wasn't the same, _couldn't_ be the same. It didn't light up the world the way his had... but it did light up her. It didn't put out enough warmth that he could bask in it... but it was enough for him to warm his hands. And it would be enough. It would have to be. Swallowing a sudden lump of tears of his own, he firmly told himself to get control and keep it. Sheila needed him to be strong, needed to know that she could depend on him... and he could show her that, could prove it to her over and over... even if it killed him.

Reaching a hand into his pocket, he pulled out a small piece of paper and handed it over. Sheila took it from him, read through it... and almost dropped it in shock. One hand clutching his shoulder, her mouth worked for a moment before she managed to get any words out, "Banana-Berger... what... what is this?"

Shifting uncomfortably beneath her, he mumbled, "What does it look like?"

Turning to look at him, she held it up between them, "It looks like a check for $500." Eyes narrowing, she asked, "Where did you get this, Berger?"

Making an irritated noise, he pushed at Sheila until she got off his lap and then stood up himself. After pacing back and forth a few times he rounded on Sheila, "Why? Do you think I stole it? Held a gun to someone's head and forced them to write it?"

Sheila sighed, rubbed a hand against her forehead, "Banana-Berger, I didn't say that. I just want to know where you got this money. That's all."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Berger scowled, "Did you even bother looking to see who wrote it?"

Eyes confused, Sheila looked down at the check. Her eyes widened again, "Wait... Elaine Berger... Honey, isn't that your mother's name?"

Hunching his shoulders, Berger mumbled, "Yeah. Yeah, it is." At her wide-eyed look, he sighed, "I went over to Hoboken with Woof. Wanted to talk to my dad..." His voice dropped into an embarrassed whisper, "...see if he could help me get a job or something." At those words, Sheila's hand rose to her mouth and she drew in a breath. Touched beyond words and eyes shining with tears, she just nodded at him. He sighed, "Of course when my mother found out _why_ I needed money, she wrote that check and didn't want me to leave until I took it. When I refused, she apparently gave it to Woof who gave it to me when we got back. Said it would be stupid not to take it... and he didn't think I was stupid." Making a face, he added, "Either way, I know we need the money, so..." He shrugged.

Sheila walked over to him and wrapped her arms gently around his neck, "Berger... Thank you. It took a lot of courage to do this - to go back home... to ask for help." When Berger ducked his gaze, Sheila tucked a hand under his chin and smiled, "No, I mean it. I'm proud of you. I..." A small laugh bubbled forth, "For the first time in months, I think we may actually get through this." Leaning forward, she murmured her next words against his lips before joining hers with them in a gentle kiss, "Thank you, Banana-Berger. Thank you."

Truly at peace with each other for the first time since Claude was drafted, Berger lifted Sheila gently in his arms and carried her back towards the bedroom. Finances could wait. Arguments could wait. It could _all_ wait. Tonight was for them.

* * *

New. This is new. He prowls the edges of the room, untrusting, untrusted, wary and tense. New is bad. Badbadbad. New is unpredictable. And things that are unpredictable can get you hurt, killed... can get others hurtkilled. Not that that matters anymore. The others don't matter. They _can't_ matter. If you worry about the others, you're the one who suffers in the end... because they sure as _fuck_ don't worry about you.

Letting out a low growl, he paces back to the other corner. He knows the one in the white coat. The one in the white coat brings the needles, the drugs, the instruments to poke and prod. He brings the muscle-men that trap him, tie him down, take away what little dignity he has left. Not that there's much. Dignity. A soft snort. He abandoned dignity... how long ago? Too long. Forever and a day. Back in that time when the sounds the one in the white coat makes still made sense. They all make those sounds. Like so much about this strange, new camp, he wishes he understood them. But if wishes were fishes he'd walk on the sea. And he can't. He can barely walk on the land. The ground is too muddy, too swampy, too putrid. He knows it, doesn't even have to see it to know it. There's no escape.

But he knows the one in the white coat. Has a wary sort of respect for him, now, because the one in the white coat seems to understand him. Knows when he's going to bolt, knows when he wants to hide, knows when he needs to call in the muscle-men to subdue him... knows too damned much. Knowledge is power and the one in the white coat has it. You respect the one that has the power. If you don't... if you don't, it's badbadbad and you get hurthurthurt. So he tries not to fight the one in the white coat.

The muscle-men... they're different. One on one he stands a chance. One on one he hurt one once. Teeth baring in a feral grin, he crouches in the corner and lets his hands clench and unclench. That had felt goodgoodgood. Knowing that he could hurt them, knowing that he still had that much power... knowing that _they_ now had a wary sort of respect for _him_. But now they didn't come one on one. They didn't take those sorts of chances anymore - orders from the one in the white coat, no doubt. A shame...

The one he likes least of all, though, is the one in the brown suit. Everything about him is brown: suit, hair, eyes, self. Brownbrownbrown. He comes sometimes, with the one in the white coat. He makes those noises, he stares, he tries to touch. He doesn't like that, doesn't like the one in the suit, is more scared of him than he is of the one in the white coat and the muscle-men put together, wishes he would stop coming. Not that he ever has a choice. Those visits always end in yelling, screaming, desire to killkillkill! Hands clenching rhythmically against his sides, he forces himself to calm. Don't call attention. Don't call attention. Don't think about the one in the brown suit. Think about the new... the one he doesn't yet understand.

He stares up at the one in the center of the room. This one... this one is different. Blue... this one is blue, with hair like his... sun colored and soft. He can smell it from the corner. The blue approaches, takes a step towards him and he growls again, jerks to his feet and backs away into a different corner. No. Nonono. Doesn't work that way. The blue may smell nice, be soft and... and... pretty? Pretty. Soft and pretty, with eyes so sad... He's seen eyes like that before. Sadsadsad. So very sad. Why so sad? He wishes he knew. Why? It doesn't matter. Who cares why others are sad? They're all sad here. Happiness is an illusion, like the safety of this room, the luxury of the bed he still can't sleep on after seven, seven, seven, seven and two... thirty days... a month. Still can't sleep on after a month in this new prison camp.

Sinking down onto the floor he pulls his knees in tight to his chest, sad and aching and confused. He doesn't understand, doesn't know what they want from him. And how can you avoid the worst of the painpainpain if you don't know what will make them hurt you? Hands clamped tightly over his head, he buries his face in his knees and starts to rock back and forth, keening softly. Too loud and they hear you and noise makes them angry and they come with the white coats and the muscle-men and the needles and the restraints and more poking and prodding and he doesn't know how much more he can take of this new torture. He's scared and alone and he doesn't understand.

The door creaks open to reveal the one in the white coat, just as he knew it would. He doesn't even need to look up to know his presence. It's in his smell - sterile, white, cleancleanclean. It doesn't belong and it jars against his senses, jangles against his nerves like it's out of tune with the universe. Who thinks things like that? Not him, not him. Those thoughts are too big for him, do him no good. He didn't think them until coming here, here with its sterility and newness. What good does it do? He wishes he had his smaller thoughts back. Thoughts of food and shelter and clean water, fresh food, dry patch of ground, warm body to curl up against in the night... thoughts that make _sense_. Whimpering softly, he goes back to his keening, waiting for the muscle-men and the needles and restraints and, oh G-d, he doesn't want to be here anymore.

The one in the brown suit comes in with the one in the white coat, takes hold of the one in the blue to take them away. Good. Goodgoodgood. The one in the blue confuses things, churns up his stomach, his _thoughts_, in ways he doesn't understand. It needs to go, go away, go _far_ away.

But it doesn't.

It shakes off the one in the brown suit, turns around and hits it, a resounding slap right across the face. He begins to shake. So unexpected. No warning. No warning. No warning. No sign of attack until the attack is enacted. How can you avoid the pain if there are no warnings? So soft, so pretty and in the end, just the same. The one in the white coat backs away from the one in the blue, yielding ground without a fight. That's bad. Badbadbad. If the one in the white coat yields so readily to the one in the blue... the one in the blue must be powerful, indeed. He won't stand a chance. The one in the brown suit challenges, steps up to the one in the blue and attempts to take back his lost status. The one in the blue doesn't say a word, just clenches her fists and... and... why is the face wet? It leaks from the eyes, down the cheeks... his eyes do that sometimes, too. The tormentors, the captors, the ones who hurt... their eyes don't do that. Why? What does it mean? Whatever it means, the one in the brown suit backs down, defeated without even raising a fist.

More confused than ever before, his keening devolves into a low moan, the desperate lonely howl of one lost without his mates... his pack... his Tribe. So lost, so alone, so afraid. This time when the one in the white coat approaches with the needle in hand, he doesn't even put up a token struggle, just welcomes the oblivion the needle brings with open arms. Sweet sleep... oh, never to wake.

* * *

**A/N:** And now for some chibi silliness! :D

Claude: Oh, come **on**! *stares*

R-chan: *wince* I'm sorry...?

Claude: *drops his head down onto his knees as he curls up on the floor* *whimpers*

Berger: *glares at the chibi as he drops down to cuddle the Claude* I really don't like you right now.

R-chan: D: But... but... I gave you happy family reunion chapter!

Berger: *indicates Claude with a wave of his hand* With _this_ as the trade-off? *glares* Thanks but no thanks.

R-chan: *sigh* It gets better next chapter, OK? Much better.

Claude: *looks up, scowls* "You promise," right?

R-chan: *sheepish grin* Naturally!

Claude: *sigh* "And since when have I lied to you?" right?

R-chan: *pinches Claude's cheek* Got in one, dear!

Claude: *mumbles* Damn it.

Berger: *cuddles the Claude*

Questions, comments, watermelon?

_**Coming Soon:**_ The day has finally arrived! Berger is a daddy... but that isn't the most exciting thing to come out of this trip to the hospital. Fate will have its say, whether he's ready for it or not.


	3. Chapter 3

So, there's about a million other things I should be doing right now other than posting this, but I felt bad about how I left the last chapter and wanted to get this out sooner. ^_^ Enjoy!

**Title:** The Algea  
**Fandom:** Hair, the musical: 2009 Revival  
**Pairing:** Berger/Sheila, hints of Claude/Berger, Claude/Berger/Sheila, Claude/Jeanie  
**Rating:** PG-13 for some kissing, R for angst and trauma. Pick your poison. ^_^  
**Word Count:** 33,098  
**Warnings:** Slash. **Angst**. Holy hell, is there angst. O_O Sorry 'bout that. Rebound effect from 'Flesh Failures,' I think...

**Disclaimer:** Neither the musical nor the boys belong to me, if they did they'd be groping each other on sta-. *pause* *blinkblink* Huh. Look at that... they do. *eg* :D _((Hair was written by James Rado and Gerome Ragni with music by Galt MacDermot.))_

**Summary:** Sheila has watched Berger destroying himself for months and finally decides that she can't take any more of it. She's going to save him from himself no matter the cost... or the ultimate prize. Sequel to "Going Down."

**_Juy 20, 2010:_** Part 3... and things are finally starting to look up! ^_^

And do remember... comments and reviews are love! ^_^

* * *

**The Algea: Ania**  
_by Renee-chan_

Berger jerked awake, so startled by the sudden screaming and flailing happening next to him that he fell out of bed, "Wha-? What... Sheila, what the hell?"

When he finally got himself upright, it was to find Sheila sitting up in the bed, an embarrassed look on her face as she stared down at him. A deep blush quickly suffused her features, "Sorry, Banana-Berger..." Looking down at herself, she winced, "I... I think my water just broke."

They stared at each other for several minutes until Sheila let out a small groan and grabbed at her abdomen. Berger was on his feet in a flash, anxiously hovering at Sheila's side, "Wh-what do we do? Sheila?" Eyes wide and panicked, Berger clutched at Sheila's arm, "Sheila, what do we do?"

Seeing that Berger was going to be absolutely no help and, worse, was closer to falling back into pieces at this moment than he'd been in six months, Sheila fought through the contraction to take a firm hold of his face with both hands, "Berger! Snap out of it. We talked about this, remember?" Seeing an edge of sanity come back into the younger man's gaze, she continued, "You know what to do. Go get my overnight bag while I call a taxi, OK?"

Berger took in a deep breath and nodded, "OK. OK. Get your overnight bag. I can do that."

He started to walk away and Sheila held up a hand, "Berger! Just..." Blush deepening, she said, "Could... could you help me up first?"

Green eyes met blue and softened. Berger came back to the bed and took Sheila's hand in his, cradled it to his face for a moment. Eyes shining and a smile starting to light his features, Berger gave a little laugh, "This is really happening, isn't it? We're having a baby." The smile widened and Sheila could just about feel the manic energy starting to roll off him. He laughed again and grabbed her up into a tight hug. Sheila was about ready to cry herself with pure relief - not because he had stopped panicking, but because for the first time since that fateful day in 1967, it felt like she had the old Berger back... her Berger... _Claude's_ Berger. A moment later he pulled her to her feet and spun her around in a brief but wild dance of joy. Immediately apologetic, he gave her a quick kiss on the lips, "Overnight bag. I'm on it. You go," he waved his hands towards the kitchen, "Waddle over there and call a cab."

Laughing right along with him at his antics, Sheila shook her head and did exactly that. It was going to be one hell of a long night... but at least it was starting off the right way.

* * *

Berger stared up at the clock in the hospital waiting room and let out another string of inventive curses. This was _not_ how this was supposed to have gone. When they arrived at the hospital, the doctors took one look at him and ordered him out into the waiting room. Sheila tried to object, to insist that she wanted him with her, but they were hearing none of it. They stood in the hallway and argued about it for almost ten minutes. Finally, soul tearing apart as he listened to Sheila screaming with the force of the next contraction, Berger had finally given up and let them wheel her away. He could hear her protesting their treatment of him all the way down the long hallway to the delivery room.

It was the right thing to do. He knew it. She didn't really need him in there and he would only have caused her problems by continuing to protest... but that didn't mean that it hurt any less. Every twenty minutes or so, a nurse would wander by to give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder and tell him that everything was proceeding normally. What did that mean? Was Sheila in pain? Was she afraid? Was the baby OK? **G-d**. How had his father done this more than once?

After about an hour, Berger finally calmed enough to call the rest of the Tribe and let them know what was going on. Jeanie and Claude, Crissy, Woof, Hud and Dionne arrived at the hospital within thirty minutes of his phone calls, each ready to give whatever support they could to the expectant father. After another twenty minutes, Berger was ready to climb the walls in his sheer frustration with their attempts to be helpful and had screamed that if they didn't leave him alone soon, he was going to start throwing chairs. That bought him a few feet of distance... at least for a little while. And naturally, not even a minute later, it was little Claude who breached that invisible barrier, walked right across it as if he didn't even know it was there. Stepping up to his Uncle Berger's knee, saying not one word, he laid a small hand on it in comfort. Berger, no less immune to the child's charms than he'd been to the those of the one he was named after, sighed and reached down to pull the boy into his lap. Claude wrapped his small arms around Berger's neck and hugged him tight. Berger returned the embrace just as tightly, unable to speak due to the sudden lump of tears in his throat. It was stupid, really, to feel so left out. They'd known it was a long shot that he would be allowed into the delivery room - after all, he was a man and he wasn't even Sheila's husband - but still, he'd hoped. His connection to Sheila and the miracle of this life they'd created between them was all that had kept him holding on all this time. With its sudden loss he felt bereft, adrift... incomplete.

After a few minutes of letting Jeanie's son comfort him, Berger couldn't handle it anymore. There were times - tonight being one of them - that the boy reminded Berger far too much of his father, the way he would just wordlessly appear to offer solace... the way he gravitated towards Berger whenever he was in the room... the way his eyes would twinkle _just_ so with mischief... Swallowing against that hard lump of tears, Berger gently placed the boy back on the ground and rose to his feet. He barely managed to mumble out that he was going for a walk before the shakes got the better of him and he bolted.

* * *

Soft. They're getting soft. He can tell. A vicious smile crosses his features. Not long. Not long. Not long. It only took them four, four, four, four, four, four and three weeks... six months, a little more... to forget what they shouldn't have. He's been patient, biding his time. The one in the brown suit doesn't come anymore. The one in the blue chased him away. That's good. Goodgoo-. That's good. One good. One good is enough.

The one in the white coat hardly ever brings his needles anymore. Just sits - sits and talks at him. He even understands some of the words now. Not all, not even most, but some. The one in the white coat, his word is 'doctor.' Doctor... Doctor is healer. And that is confusing. Why would there be in this hellhole one who heals? It's the first hint that he has that something is wrong. The inmates are running the asylum.

And there are those big thoughts again.

The one in the blue... the one so powerful with the soft hair and the sweet smell and the wetness in the eyes - tears. The tears... her word is 'mother.' That's a powerful word and one he should know. 'Mother' gave you life. 'Mother' suckled you, protected you, healed your little hurts when you were little yourself. She shouldn't be here either, but he can't help but be glad of her presence, for the one she chased away - the one in the brown suit... the one whose word is 'Father.' He hates him, clenches his fists in rage when he even thinks about him. Somehow, he doesn't yet know exactly how, this is all his fault. But that doesn't matter here, either. Thoughts of fault, blame... too big. Those thoughts are too big and they don't matter. They're distracting. They don't belong here - not those thoughts and not these people or their words. They belong to that other life - the life before the pain and the terror and the sheer hellhole of despair that ripped his soul apart. And that makes no sense. Because if they belong to that other life, how can they be here?

He can't take the confusion anymore. He needs answers, needs to understand, and he can't do that trapped in this room with the corners and the space barely large enough to pace 10 steps in any direction - and how did that used to seem so big? - and the bed in which he still can't sleep. He needs to get out of here. He finally thinks he's ready.

He's watched, waited, tricked them into thinking he sleeps in the bed, tricked them into thinking he's getting better, understanding more, tricked them into thinking he's harmless. He isn't harmless. The one in the white coat isn't here tonight, neither is the one called 'Mother.' Good. That's good. Tonight it's just the woman in white, the one who brings his food, the medication they try to make him take. Normally he tucks it under his tongue, spits it out once they've gone. Tonight he doesn't waste the time. The door is open. She left the door open and there's only one. Only one tonight. Only-

Enough. Stop. Spinning his body into motion, he swiftly incapacitates the woman in white, lowering her gently to the bed as she drops unconscious. The door. The door! Gathering his legs underneath him, he launches into a quick sprint, desperate to be out that door and away before they can realize he's gone.

Two of the muscle-men are outside the door, waiting, unaware still of what transpired in the room they should have been watching. With a chilling smile of pure glee he lashes out. His fist catches one across the jaw, drops him like a felled tree. The other... he recognizes that one. It's the one he hurt before. There is no gentleness in him. That one never forgets the other time and retaliates for it as often as he can. He's been hurt more than once on account of this one - restraints pulled too tight, bruises left where no one can see. This one gets no mercy. Striking out with his right foot, he catches this one in the knee, smile widening into one of ecstasy when he hears the loud keee-_runch_ of the joint giving way. He's down, but not out. No time to finish the job, though, not if he wants to get away.

A mere heartbeat later, he's off and running down the hall. The rooms... the halls... they all look alike! How is he possibly going to find his way through these labyrinthine corridors? What kind of camp _is_ this? Frustration mounting and fear building with every turn, his heart starts to pound in panic. How on Earth can he get out of this place if everything looks the same? He could be running in circles for all he knows!

Rounding a corner, his eyes catch on something. Hand up for balance, he skids on the slick floor right into the one that caught his attention. They go down on the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. Fighting as quickly as he can to disentangle himself, he feels another momentary edge of panic. They're comingcomingcom-. They're _coming_. He's going to get caught and he hasn't even managed a decent recon of the area!

He grabs the shirt of the one with whom he collided, ready to fling him out of the way when their eyes meet. Brown eyes lock with jade green... and he freezes. Those eyes... He... he knows those eyes... No! Flinging the other away from him, he's back on his feet in a heartbeat, down the hall and there! It isn't an exit, but it's a good place to go to ground and think, try to figure out what the _hell_ just happened. Try to ignore the way his heart lurched in his chest at the set of breathless sounds the owner of the green eyes made when their eyes locked. Try to ignore the bone deep recognition he felt for those sounds... and the voice that had made them.

"Claudio?"

* * *

Berger wandered the seemingly endless corridors in a desperate fugue, upset, depressed and feeling disconnected from reality. Sheila and the baby had been his lifeline, had afforded him some connection, however tenuous, to the real world. Without them - even temporarily - G-d it was too easy to let his thoughts wander roads that they shouldn't. It had been ten months - Jesus, _ten months_ - since they'd gotten that damned letter. Ten months since Berger had tried to follow after Claude to that place of eternal rest. Ten months that he'd spent fighting with himself not to repeat that particular mistake.

He needed to be here for Sheila. He _wanted_ to be here for Sheila... but that didn't mean it was easy. His father had been true to his word, had helped him to get a job with an old friend of his from college. Guy owned a record store in the Village and had been willing to hire Berger on the faith of his friendship with his father. And Berger did whatever he could to uphold that faith, because he knew he wouldn't get another chance like this one. And it was hard. There were days that left Berger ready to scream, to throw things, to break things. Those were bad days. Those days usually ended with him coming home to have a screaming match with Sheila... or with him not coming home at all. But it was better, far better, than the alternative. At least this way, he had something to hold on to.

Lost in his musings, Berger didn't at first realize that he was in someone's way. Didn't understand what had happened even when he hit the floor, nor when a pair of strong hands grabbed a double fistful of his shirt and gathered strength to throw him away like a rag doll. No... it was when he looked up, eyes locking onto the wild-eyed gaze of the man crouched over him that he finally caught on. Those wide brown eyes were terrified, bloodshot... all pupil. They saw him but they didn't know him. They were like the eyes of a frightened animal, trapped and scared beyond reason.

And Berger knew them. He knew every line, every plane of the face in which they rested... every line and curve of the body crouched over him. And in that moment he wanted to scream, curse, rail at the unfairness of it all, that a flashback could be so realistic... so cruel. But still, he couldn't have stopped himself from the startled exclamation that flew from his lips if he had all the strength in the world. And at that utterance, the body above him went still, hands tightened in the fabric of his shirt as those eyes widened in... in... dear G-d... in recognition? It was only a second, but it was there. Then a noise from behind them startled the other man's head into flying upwards, eyes darting around in terror. He then flung himself off of Berger and bolted down the hallway into what looked like a storage closet.

Too stunned to register anything but the lingering warmth at his chest where the other man had been clutching at his shirt, Berger looked down the hallway at the closet door, then back up the other hallway at the doctor and four orderlies that came barreling down it after their runaway patient. And then, mind unable to handle that one more shock, he dissolved into hysterics, tipping back his head and howling out his laughter until the tears streamed down his face. The doctor stopped at his side, eyes worried and torn as he knelt by him, "Son... are you OK? He didn't hurt you, did he?"

It took Berger a few more minutes before he got himself under control enough to answer, "No... no, he didn't hurt me. I just... I was just surprised is all. What... who...?" He couldn't do it, couldn't ask the question that was beating against the confines of his throat, desperate to get out, didn't want the confirmation that his eyes had been playing tricks on him after all.

The doctor sighed as he helped Berger to his feet, "A sad story, son. That's what he is. A Viet Nam vet. He was checked into the hospital about ten months ago, now. He's had a pretty rough go of it." Running his hands through his hair in irritation, the doctor shook his head, "I thought he was getting better. He _was_ getting better. And then this... damn it." Eyes locking on Berger, he abruptly scowled, "Why the hell am I telling you this? Who are you?"

Feeling like he was on anything but solid ground, Berger put a hand out to the wall to try to steady himself. He'd just been thinking it earlier - ten months ago... Sheila gotten that damned letter ten months ago, almost exactly to the day. Berger tried to take in a deeper breath, but suddenly there was no air in the hallway. He couldn't get in any air. Sliding down the wall, Berger tucked his head between his knees. The delivery, getting separated from Sheila and now _this_? He couldn't handle it, wanted to just close his eyes and forget this day had happened, desperately wished he could just float away on a cloud of smoke.

The doctor was kneeling beside him again, one hand on his back and murmuring words that Berger couldn't understand. There was no way. Absolutely no way. It couldn't be... it just couldn't... Letting out a soft cry, Berger lurched back to his feet and down the hall in the direction that the other man had run. The orderlies were pounding on the door, trying to pry it open, but the man was obviously clever and had done something to barricade it.

Berger and the doctor reached the group at the same time and the doctor reached out to grab his arm and hold him back, "Son, you really can't be here right now. You need to go back to wherever you belong. We can handle this."

Wherever he belonged? Wherever he _belonged_? He belonged here - right **here**. Eyes blazing with sudden fury, Berger got right up into the doctor's face, "Oh you can, can you, Mr. Doctor? Because you've done such a bang up job so far, huh?" At the doctor's shocked look, Berger continued, "Any idiot could see that poor guy is terrified of you. So what do you do? You hunt him down like an animal and try to break down the door of the one place he found where he feels safe! And you say you can **handle** it? Bullshit!"

Caught off guard by this attack from a random person in the hallway that shouldn't have even had an opinion on the matter, the doctor could only gape, "Well... what the hell would _you_ suggest then?"

Eyes settling, though still burning, Berger leaned back in and growled, "Back the fuck off and let _me_ handle it." Before the doctor could voice an objection, Berger sneered, "What the hell do you have to lose? I can't possibly fuck it up worse than you already have, can I?"

The doctor slumped, reluctantly nodded, "You know what? Fine. You think you can do a better job than the professionals, son? You go right ahead. Knock yourself out. I'm starting to think he's a G-d damned lost cause anyway."

At those words, Berger's heart sank and soared at the same time. He still wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't hallucinating, wasn't seeing something that wasn't there, but at least now he had permission of a sort to find out. Eyes firming with resolve, Berger walked over and pushed the orderlies out of the way. He was going to get to the bottom of this, because that fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach, that tug at his very heart, was telling him more clearly than his eyes ever could that he was right. He knew who was on the other side of that door and if he had to, if that was what it took, he'd wait a lifetime for the other man to open it.

Walking right up to the door, Berger leaned his body against it, pressing his face to the cold wood and lifting a hand to gently stroke the grain. Softly, into the door, he whispered, "I... I may have been hallucinating just now, flashing back on something I wanted to see and not something that was really there, but I don't think that's true. Because when you looked at me... some part of you knew me, too." Breath hitching on a quiet sob, Berger pressed his face into the door, "Please... please let me in. I need to know. I need to know if it's you. Please..."

To the shock of everyone in that hallway, those quietly spoken, desperate words did the trick. There was a sound of things shifting around inside the closet and the door opened a crack, just enough to reveal the gleam of one terror-rounded brown eye. It glanced furtively around, then one long arm snaked out through the crack, grabbed Berger's arm and tugged. Berger didn't need to be told twice. He slipped through that doorway as quickly as he could.

Once inside, the other man pushed him towards the back of the closet and set himself to re-barricading the entrance. He was quick, efficient, expedient in his actions, not one movement wasted. The soft glow of a flashlight behind them on a shelf was the only illumination in the small space, but Berger's eyes used it greedily. Watching the other man, his breath caught at the familiarity of every movement. It wasn't the same, of course it wasn't, but there was a ghost, an echo, in each one - something reminiscent of the man he knew. Unable to help himself, he reached out a hand to touch one of those slim shoulders.

At that touch, the other man spun to face him, flinched away like he'd been burned. Berger was so startled that he also jerked backwards, slammed his back into the shelving behind him. Shit. They stared at each other, two hearts racing, two minds uncertain and unstable, both wanting to trust, both unable to do it. Finally, Berger managed to force himself to relax, then sighed in relief when that seemed to relax the other man a little, as well. Taking a deep breath, Berger let a small, pained smile light his features, "I... G-d, I want to believe it's you. I do. You have no idea how much I do, how much I've missed you." Voice cracking on another sob, Berger was ashamed to feel a few tears track down his face.

The other man's eyes were immediately drawn to the trail of wetness as it gleamed in the dim light of the flashlight. His hand raised up, shaking, to touch. Though it was only a butterfly brush of fingers against skin, though it lasted barely a second, Berger's breath caught, got tangled up in his throat and his eyes fluttered shut. When he got them open again, it was to see the other man touching his now wet finger to his own cheek, just below his eye, leaving behind a trail of wetness of his own. Berger's breath caught again, more tears spilling from his eyes.

At that, the other man took a step forward, as though unable to help himself. In the close confines of the closet, that one step was enough to bring him almost flush up against Berger, only a few inches separating them. If Berger had leaned forward, he could have pressed a kiss to those lips, was tempted to do exactly that, but even he wasn't such a fool as to think that would be a wise choice right now. So he forced himself not to move, forced himself to hold absolutely still as the other man stepped forward, reached out a hand, again, to touch those trails of wetness... reached out the other hand to do the same. The fingers lingered this time, drifting along the planes of Berger's face like one who was blind.

That gentle touch, that light skimming of long-fingered hands across his features... Berger's heart gave another hard lurch. He _knew_ this touch, the gentleness in it, the warmth. He knew it. And he couldn't take another second of it. Backing away as far as the confines of the space would allow, Berger sank to the ground, curled in on himself, buried his hands in his hair and his face in his knees, quietly sobbing. Every nerve, every fiber of his being, told him that he knew the man standing over him in this closet. Every beat of his heart spelled out the man's name. Every breath he took was filled with the other man's essence. But he... _he_ didn't know _Berger_ and that was too painful to bear.

The other man dropped to his knees next to Berger, eyes once again scared and uncertain. He lifted a hand as though to reach out and touch, then seemed to think better of it and pulled the hand back against his chest. Watching Berger curled up and crying seemed to break what little confidence he'd had and a low, keening cry began to emerge from his throat.

At that noise, Berger's head jerked upwards, eyes flooded with pain. That sound... _G-d_ that sound. His ears might never have heard it before, but his heart... his heart knew that sound. His heart had _made_ that sound - lost, alone, frightened, in terrible pain - and his heart was what responded. Not even giving thought to the action, Berger reached out and pulled the other man into his arms, cradling the hunched up form to his chest. Caught up in his own pain, the other man didn't even stop his desperate keening, didn't even notice as he was hugged tightly against Berger. They sat there like that for a long time, Berger slowly rocking the other man back and forth in his arms and he clinging to Berger like a life raft in a storm tossed sea.

Eventually, the other man calmed, the keening quieted to an occasional whimper. But to Berger's surprise, he made no move to pull away, instead leaned in closer, pressed his face into the crook of Berger's neck. As the embrace loosened, lost its desperate edge, it, too, began to feel familiar. The feel of the other man's arms around him, that lithe body draped across him... he knew it. Knew the feel of it. Every muscle in his body knew this posture, this embrace... and reveled in it.

Taking a risk, Berger pressed a small kiss to the other man's temple. The response he got was the other man's arms tightening around him. Emboldened, he pressed another kiss to that same spot, then spoke softly into the cropped hair, "You don't know who I am. I get that. But you _do_ know me. I know you do. Thing is... I don't think you know who _you_ are, either, love. Well," Berger's voice firmed with resolve, with strength, "_I_ know who you are. I know _you_. I did what you asked, imprinted you so deeply in my heart that there's no _way_ I couldn't know you. I can remember for both of us. And I will... until you remember, too." Voice cracking on a single sob, he said, "Claudio... welcome home."

* * *

Staring down at the precious bundle in her arms, Sheila couldn't keep the ridiculously goofy grin off her face. She tried, because it truly wasn't dignified and she was still upset that the doctors hadn't let Berger in the delivery room with her, but she just couldn't do it. Looking up at the other blonde in the room, that smile put a roughened edge in her voice, "It's... she's... I... How...?" Eventually she gave up and just shrugged helplessly.

Jeanie, cradling a blissfully sleeping Claude against her, just smiled, "Words can't describe, huh, Sheila?"

At that understanding look, a tear finally escaped to roll unheeded down Sheila's cheek. Eyes full of wonder as they turned back to the sleeping newborn in her arms, she let out a watery laugh, "No, I guess they can't. All this time I've been so worried about everything, you know? How are we going to pay for things? Will Berger be able to handle this? How will I manage finishing up classes while taking care of a baby?" She paused, shook her head, "I guess I forgot that there's more to this whole thing than worrying. Now that she's here... G-d, Jeanie, you're right. Words can't describe." Her gaze dropping back to that tiny bundle, her smile softened, "I didn't expect to fall in love with her so quickly or completely."

Jeanie nodded, "I know exactly what you mean, Sheila. I felt the same way when Claude was born. I knew I would love him... but I never expected I would love him this much, would love him more than anything else... than any_one_ else." Blue eyes met blue in a sudden moment of pure understanding. Jeanie shrugged, "Not that I'll ever forget him, but it made it easier, you know? Being a mom really does come first, above and beyond anything else in my life. Everything I do now, it's for him." Leaning over, she pressed a soft kiss to Claude's head of blonde curls, "Everything."

Sheila smiled, "I think I understand what you mean. Now that she's here, she comes first - before my own grief, before me... before Berger." Smile falling and voice dropping, she hunched over, "That scares me a little. Berger's only made it this far because I've been able to put him first. How... how is he going to handle this?"

Jeanie sighed, "He'll just have to, that's all. Your daughter is going to need you both and she's going to need you both to put her first. It's not an option and he knows that. He'll adjust." When Sheila moved to object, Jeanie shook her head, "He will, Sheila. I've watched him these last six months. He's changed, mostly for the better. I think he's ready for this. I really do think so." Reaching out a hand to poke the other woman in the shoulder, she smiled, "So quit worrying about everyone else for once and enjoy this moment, OK?"

Sheila laughed, "OK, OK. I can take a hint." Eyes narrowing, she said, "Just... one last bit of worry before I give it a rest for the day." At Jeanie's raised eyebrow, she frowned, "Where the hell _is_ Berger? I think everyone in the Tribe has been in to meet her at least once, but I haven't seen or heard from him since we got here seven hours ago. Where the hell is he?"

"What do you mean you haven't heard from him?" Jeanie sat up, a worried frown on her face. Her eyes unfocused as she thought, "He was in the waiting room when we got here around midnight... then about an hour later he left to take a walk... Jesus, Sheila, you're right - he never came back." Eyes widening in horror, Jeanie slumped, "That can't be any kind of good."

Sheila's eyes grew rounder with each word that emerged from Jeanie's lips, "Jeanie, what the hell? I figured he was out in the waiting room with all of you just trying to get up the guts to come in! But now you're telling me that he wandered off into the hospital five hours ago and no one's seen him since?" Muttering curses, Sheila started trying to shift her legs to the side to get up.

Trying desperately not to wake her own sleeping child, Jeanie beat her to it and rushed to the bed to block her attempts to stand, "No! Sheila, you can't get up. It's too soon! Just lay back a minute and let me think, all right?" When the other blonde reluctantly settled, Jeanie turned around to put Claude down in the chair and started pacing. Finally she sighed, "I'll go out into the waiting room and see if he's back. If not, we'll all split up and look for him. I don't think he would have left the hospital, so he can't have gone too far. Someone will have noticed him wandering around. So, just sit tight, all right?"

Grumbling in irritation, Sheila settled back against the pillows, "Fine. But if you're not back _with him_ in an hour, I'm getting myself out of this damned bed and looking for him myself."

Twitching at the ire in her friend's voice, Jeanie nodded. G-d help Berger if he didn't have a good reason for his disappearance... because she had a feeling no one else would.

* * *

It took the better part of four hours to convince Claude to leave the safety of the closet and go back to his room. And that look of skepticism, almost of betrayal, on his face when he saw where Berger was leading him to about broke his heart. Once they were safely inside, Claude tucked himself down into the corner furthest from the door and just huddled there with his arms over his head.

The doctor approached Berger and quietly cleared his throat, "You... he..." He sighed, "Son, if you have an explanation for me, I'd love to hear it."

Berger sighed in response, "One that'll make sense to you, old man? No." Before the doctor's irritated frown could turn into a lecture, Berger continued, "It's karma, man. Fate." A self-deprecating laugh, "My reward for straightening up and trying to fly right for a change, I guess." Rubbing tiredly at his face as he sat down on the bed, Berger's voice quieted, "Claude's a friend of mine. Thought he was dead. His mother... his mother told us all that he was. Wrote us a letter. **Fuck.**"

Dropping a hand onto the younger man's shoulder, the doctor gave him an awkward pat, "Well, I don't know about all that, son. What I _do_ know is that you've made more forward progress with him in five hours than I've managed in ten months. And I'm not full of so much pride that I would look a gift horse like this in the mouth." Sitting down beside Berger on the bed, he also rubbed a hand over his face, "His parents left explicit instructions that no one but they were to be allowed to visit him. Thing is, they aren't my main concern." Nodding over at the hunched and quietly keening figure in the corner, he said, "_He_ is. And if you think you can help him... well, I'm willing to let you try, because nothing I've done is working. What do you say?"

Swallowing hard against the lump of tears threatening to break open in his throat, Berger nodded, "I say you're on, man. Wild horses couldn't tear me away. Not this time. Not ever again."

"I hope you can keep that positive attitude, son. We're going to need every ounce of it." Holding out a hand to Berger, the older man said, "Name's Dr. Howard. Charles Howard."

Berger gingerly shook that hand, "George Berger." Giving out another soft chuckle, he added, "But I don't dig George so much. Berger will do the job just fine." At the doctor's sideways look and raised eyebrow, Berger continued, like always unable to resist playing into that look, "Or Banana-Berger... Karma-Berger... Hairy-Berger..."

He would have continued the litany to it's usual conclusion, but the soft hand on his knee stopped him short. Looking down into Claude's wide-eyed gaze, Berger's words stumbled to a halt. There was something... it was in the way Claude was looking at him, like he'd just handed the other man a piece to a puzzle that he hadn't even known he was trying to solve. He touched Berger's knee again, mouth working and eyes frustrated. Berger swallowed hard as he took hold of that hand and slipped onto the floor to look Claude in the eyes. Quietly, he picked up where he'd left off, "Unzipped Berger... or Pull-'em-down Berger... Take-'em-off-Berger..." With each variation, that _something_ in Claude's eyes seemed to grow. By the time Berger reached the end of the litany, Claude was leaning up so close to him that Berger's final offering was whispered almost straight into his parted lips like the smoke from a joint, "Or Sexy-Berger..."

Brown eyes fluttered shut and those lips stretched up into a smile of satisfaction, long fingers clutching at the hand they held. As though that last variation was a magic word, Claude slowly drooped until his head came to rest on Berger's shoulder, beyond exhausted by the events of the night and finally relaxed enough to rest. Berger took his weight easily, eagerly cradling the lean form against him as he fell into a deep slumber. The doctor dropped his hand to rest on Berger's shoulder again, "You've got your work cut out for you, son, but for what it's worth, for the first time in almost a year, I've got some hope for this poor guy. Can you be back here at 2 PM?"

Berger slowly stood, easing Claude's sleeping form onto the bed and tucking him in. Once he had him settled, he considered the doctor's question, "2 PM? I don't see why not. It's not like I have anything better to... do..." His eyes abruptly widened and he let out a string of curses ending in, "Fucking **hell**! I gotta go, man. I'll do my best to be back here, but I don't know if I'll be able to make it." At the doctor's confused look, he elaborated, "In all the excitement I kind of forgot why I was here to begin with." As the doctor raised an eyebrow, he explained, "My girl's having a baby tonight. I... I got so distracted by Claudio, here, I actually forgot." Face reddening, he ducked his gaze, "She's gonna _kill_ me."

Laughing, the doctor clapped him on the shoulder, "Well, you do your best, son. If you get here late, just have them page me, all right?"

Nodding at the doctor, Berger stepped back over to Claude's side to brush a gentle caress across his face. He then bent down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, "You rest up, Claudio. I'll be back later and we'll start getting you sorted out. I need you, man. More than ever before." He leaned over further to whisper his final words into Claude's ear, "I love you, Claudio." He then straightened up, squared his shoulders and left the room. If Sheila had had the baby and he wasn't there... Jesus, getting killed would be the least of his worries. With that thought chasing him down the hall, he quickened his steps. And in spite of the possible impending doom lying at the end of the hallway, he found himself filled with a lighthearted joy that had been absent for _far_ too long.

* * *

Fortunately for all concerned, when Jeanie got back to the waiting room, Berger was sitting demurely on one of the couches, hands pressed between his knees and a look of pure innocence on his face - as though he'd been sitting there the whole time and couldn't imagine that anyone would have been worried. Woof was sitting next to him, leaning in so close that he was almost in the other man's lap, eyes bright and excited. Berger kept trying to push him away, back to arm's length, at least, but Woof was having none of it. He just kept leaning back in, occasionally pressing his nose into Berger's hair and taking a big sniff. It was like he was a dog and Berger had just rolled in a pile of sausage. And Berger, though he was attempted to look annoyed by Woof's antics, eventually gave up even bothering to fight the beaming smile that had alighted on his face. In spite of her earlier worry, Jeanie found herself beaming in response.

Crissy got up from her chair and walked over to stand beside her. Leaning in close, she whispered into Jeanie's ear, "He just showed up a few minutes ago, like he hadn't been gone all night. He wouldn't tell us where he'd been or what he was doing, but whatever it was, it must have been something good. Woof hasn't left him alone since he got back."

Jeanie snorted out a laugh, "I can see that." And that wasn't all she saw. Looking at Berger now... Jesus, it was like looking at a snapshot of the past. He looked so happy... so playful... so _Berger_. She hadn't seen him look that free or joyful since before Claude was drafted. Though she had no idea what had prompted it, she readily admitted that she didn't care. She was just glad of the change.

After depositing a still sleeping Claude on a different couch, Jeanie walked over to where Berger and Woof were sitting and planted her hands on her hips, "I'm not even going to bother asking where you've been, Banana-Berger, because I recognize that look on your face. You'd just lie to me." Somehow managing to look contrite and yet completely innocent at the same time, Berger just shrugged in response. Jeanie sighed, "Instead, I'm going to ask if you'd like to see Sheila and the baby." Arching an eyebrow she asked, "So, would you?"

Berger bounced up off the couch, eyes glowing with happiness, and nodded vigorously, "I would, indeed!" He then offered them all a flash of white teeth in a huge grin and walked out of the waiting area into the maternity wing, a skip to his step that had been long absent.

Crissy's eyes narrowed, "Jeanie, if I didn't know better, I'd think he was high." At Woof's horrified look, Crissy frowned, "Oh no... Woof, he _isn't_ high, is he? He worked so hard to get clean!"

Woof was shaking his head, hands held up in a warding gesture in front of him, "No! He's not high! Not on drugs anyway..." That worried look melted back into a blissed out smile, "Man is he high on _something_, though. Life, maybe? I'm not sure, couldn't quite see..." He trailed off into incomprehensible mumbling as he tried to puzzle it out.

Jeanie just laughed and shook her head, "G-d, Crissy, who cares? This is the most himself I've seen him in years. I'm not going to question why it happened, I'm just going to enjoy it." Wrapping her arms around the small brunette, she gave her a tight squeeze and planted a firm kiss on the other girl's cheek. At Woof's instant woeful puppy look, the two girls took pity on him and opened their arms to include him. He came willingly and instantly to them, snuggling into their embrace with a look of pure happiness on his face. And for once, there was very little to mar the joy of the occasion. For a change, even Claude's absence was less painful. And as Jeanie had promised, she wasn't going to question why, she was just going to enjoy it while it lasted.

Meanwhile, down the hall, Berger had reached Sheila's room. Raising a hand, he quietly knocked on the door, not wanting to disturb her or the baby if they were asleep. In spite of that, her head jerked up at the noise, eyes locking on his, then dropping to give him a thorough once-over. With that accomplished, and nothing obviously out of place, she relaxed again, a soft smile taking over her features. Reaching out a hand, she patted the chair next to the bed.

Berger approached slowly, mindful of the newborn in Sheila's arms. When he reached the bedside, he leaned over to look. The baby wasn't sleeping, was in fact wide awake and staring at him. The minute those blue eyes locked with his, Berger found his breath catching. He'd reached out a finger to touch before he even knew what he was doing. The child reached right back out to him, latching onto his finger with a surprising amount of strength. He couldn't have looked away if he tried. Not that he was inclined to, anyway.

Sheila just watched him, entranced with the fact that _he_ was so entranced. Somehow, in spite of having seen him all those times with little Claude, she hadn't expected that of him. Wary of breaking the spell the moment had cast, but needing to ask the question just the same, she whispered, "Banana-Berger... would you like to hold her?"

Gaze jerking unsteadily upwards, Berger's eyes met hers, uncertain and a little scared. Breath shivering in his throat, he said, "I... Would... I don't... Are you _sure_?"

Sheila's heart gave a hard thump at the uncertainty in that voice, the undercurrent to the words that Berger didn't think he was worthy of holding their daughter. Smiling as reassuringly as she could, Sheila nodded, "Of course I'm sure. She's as much yours as she is mine." Pushing herself upright, she directed his arms into the correct position and gave him a few quick reminders on how to hold an infant. Once she was sure that he had the idea, she carefully passed the baby over... and then almost wept in pure joy at the transformation that took place.

Cradling their baby to him, green eyes shining and full of wonder, it was clear to see that Berger had fallen in love. He sank slowly down onto the chair beside the bed, eyes firmly fixed on those of the infant in his arms. Bending over, he inhaled her scent, placed a butterfly brush of a kiss against her head. In turn, she reached her arms upwards, fingers tangling firmly in his dark curls. From the completely absorbed look on his face, he didn't even feel the tugging. After a moment or two, she gave one mighty yawn, curled into the warmth that was her father and fell asleep.

It was a good ten minutes later that Berger finally managed to pry his eyes off of her to look back at Sheila. She was unsurprised to see them filled with tears. Still, he offered her a watery grin, a smile of reassurance, "Sheila... she's beautiful. How... Did we really do this? You and me? She really came from us?"

Leaning over, Sheila rested a hand against his cheek, "She really did, Banana-Berger. She's ours, through and through." Laughing, she gently disentangled the baby's hand from Berger's hair, "She's even got your hair already, love, in more ways than this one. G-d help her keeping that mess under control when it grows in."

Berger laughed right along with her, softly so as not to wake the baby. Turning back to look at her, he asked, "Did... Have you figured out a name for her, yet?"

Leaning back against the pillows, Sheila cleared her throat, "I did have a thought, actually." At Berger's encouraging look, she said, "I thought 'Cheryl' might be nice. It comes from the French word 'cheri'... it means 'dear one.'" Voice roughening with emotion, she added, "And I thought we'd spell it with a 'C'... for Claude."

To her surprise, Berger looked almost hesitant about it. Eventually, though, he turned to look back at their daughter and whispered, "Cheryl..." Then a little louder, but still a gentle murmur, "Cheryl..." Shaking his head and huffing out a small laugh, he said, almost to himself, "He'll like that."

Sheila frowned at that choice of phrasing, "Banana-Berger...?"

His head abruptly lifted, eyes wide and panicked, "I didn't mean..." Ducking his gaze and swallowing hard, he qualified, "I meant he _would_ have liked that." Inhaling shakily, he turned to hand the baby back over to Sheila. Once she was secure, he all but jumped out of his seat and nervously started to pace, "He... Sheila, he'd have _loved_ this, would have eaten it up. He'd have loved seeing you with a baby... seeing _me_ with a baby. He'd want to be part of it." Coming back to the bedside, he gripped Sheila's leg through the blanket, "We... we would have let him be part of it, wouldn't we? It still would have been us, _all_ of us, right? You and me and Claude and Cheryl... right? He... he wouldn't have been left out just because you and me made a baby... right, Sheila?"

Sheila fought off a sudden sense of panic at the almost crazed intensity in his gaze. She had no idea why this was coming up now, of all times, but she could see how important her answer was to Berger. Freeing one hand from holding Cheryl, she pried Berger's hand from her leg to grip it tightly in hers, "Of course, love. He was part of us. He always _will_ be part of us. We're going to carry him with us forever. Cheryl is going to know him, like little Claude knows him, because we're going to tell her about him - about how kind he was, how loving, how beautiful. He's going to be part of us, OK, baby? Don't do this to yourself. Don't fall apart on us, now. Please. We need you."

Berger stared straight into her eyes for an endless moment, then took in a shuddering breath. When he released it, she could almost see him willing himself to relax. Slumping down to sit on the foot of the bed, he nodded, "OK. I'm OK." Taking in another deep breath, he rubbed his hand over his face, "I'm sorry. I'm just... I'm tired. Last night was... it was..." To Sheila's surprise, the tears that had threatened before from joy now threatened from sadness... and won. Curling up at the end of the bed, his head pillowed on her legs, Berger quietly gave in to them.

Sheila had no idea what to think of it. The younger man was obviously exhausted, and not just physically, but emotionally. Was being separated from her last night really that hard? She desperately wanted to ask, but knew she would get no answer from her lover in this state. Instead, she paged the nurse to come and take Cheryl back to the nursery. Once she was gone, Sheila tugged Berger up to lie next to her on the pillow, cradling him close until he finally fell into a troubled, exhausted sleep. All she could do was hope that whatever this had been, come morning, she'd have back the Berger that she loved and was quickly coming to rely on. She would need his strength more than ever now, for her... and for Cheryl.

* * *

When Berger woke up later that day it was to see Sheila beside him, feeding their daughter. She smiled softly at him and held up a finger to her lips in a shushing motion. He smiled in response and nodded, then sat up to watch. He'd secretly always found it a little weird, back when Jeanie's son was born, to watch her feed him. It just... something about it seemed so bizarre. But watching Sheila and Cheryl? The only word he could think of to describe it was "beautiful." The two of them together were beautiful.

Moving closer, he let Sheila pillow her head on his chest. She slunk down against him with a grateful sigh, murmuring, "You wouldn't think that six pounds was all that heavy, would you?" When he shook his head, she snorted, "Yeah, well try holding those six pounds in this position for thirty minutes. It's damned exhausting. Someone should have told me." Letting out a soft yawn, she added, "I'd have started lifting weights or something in preparation."

Berger laughed at the image that presented, then took the hint. The minute Cheryl was done feeding, he took her from Sheila so she could put herself back together and rest her arms. Rolling her head to look up at them, she smiled, then her brow wrinkled, "You... Berger, you're going to have to burp her. Do you know how?"

Grabbing a blanket from the basinet, Berger threw it over his shoulder. Wrinkling his nose at Sheila, he nodded, "I know how. I wasn't _totally_ gone when Claude was born, you know. I did learn a thing or two." He then lifted Cheryl onto his shoulder and gently started rubbing her back. She kicked her legs, scrunching them up against her and letting out an unhappy little cry. Berger just sighed, "I know it hurts, kiddo. Claude was a colicky little guy, too. Just give it a minute." Gently patting her back, he started walking around the room with her, letting the rocking of his gait press his shoulder into her stomach. After a few minutes, some more crying and finally, a rather large belch, she settled. He then pulled her back down into his arms and wiped her face with the blanket. Giving her a soft kiss on the cheek, he smiled, "There now. Told you. Doesn't that feel better?" She responded by tangling her fingers in his hair as it swung by.

Sheila just watched the whole scene, more than a little in awe. She'd forgotten... she really had. Back when Claude had first been drafted, Berger had been scattered, sure, but he'd still been together - well, as together as he ever was. And he'd also been desperately in need of a distraction. Into the void of that need had come Jeanie's son. Jeanie had been so overwhelmed, so in need of help... and Berger had so desperately needed someone to need him that he'd ended up spending several nights with her in the apartment that the Tribe had pooled resources together to get for her. He'd been there with her, all the way through those first few months. It wasn't until later - when she no longer needed him quite so much - that he'd started to fall apart. In point of fact, it might have been Jeanie and Claude that kept him sane all that time.

Well, whatever the case, Sheila was just grateful. It had been less than twelve hours and she was already petrified that she was going to do something dreadfully wrong and hurt her child. Hell, when Cheryl had been colicky earlier this morning, Sheila had been unable to calm her or ease her pain and had started crying right along with her. The nurse had finally had to come in and help. Of course, Berger had slept the sleep of the dead through the whole thing. But now, seeing Berger so casually confident... Something in her relaxed at the sight. In spite of their little hiccup last night, Jeanie was right - Berger _was_ ready for this. And not only was he ready... but she obviously wasn't going to have to carry his weight along with hers and Cheryl's. In fact... it seemed more and more like she might be able to let _him_ carry a little of _her_ weight. The sheer relief of that almost brought tears back to her eyes. She wiped at them miserably, "Damned hormones..."

Berger looked up at that, eyes questioning, "What was that?"

She shook her head, laughed a little, "It was nothing, Banana-Berger. Just... you're a natural at this. When she pulled that on me earlier, I was crying right along with her."

Berger just stared at her, the look on his face clearly stating that he thought she was trying to pull one over on him. He frowned, "You were not. You don't cry."

Crossing her arms over her chest, she huffed, "You obviously haven't been paying attention the last six months. I most certainly do, Banana-Berger. Especially with all these stupid pregnancy hormones flooding my system. Seems like all I do these days is cry." At his astounded look, she shrugged, "She was in pain, she was upset and I couldn't help her. Wouldn't that be enough to make _you_ cry?"

Understanding finally dawned and Berger nodded, "Yeah... yeah, I guess it would." Walking over, he ran a gentle hand through Sheila's hair and down her cheek, then leaned over to give her a soft kiss, "Look, she just ate, so she'll be good for a while, right? Why don't I get the nurse to take her back to the nursery and get out of your hair for a while so you can sleep? I'm sure you could use a break."

Gratefully, Sheila nodded, "G-d, Berger... that would be fantastic."

Berger laughed in response, a jaunty grin on his face, "'G-d-Berger', huh? That's a new one... but I think I like it."

Laughing right along with him, Sheila raised a hand and swatted at him. To his credit, he didn't even try to move out of the way, just let her hit him. He then pressed another soft kiss to her head, put a sleeping Cheryl down in the basinet and wheeled her out to the nurse's station. And not a moment too soon... the clock read 1:47 PM. He should have just enough time to go splash some water on his face before making it to his other appointment... one that, even after only six hours apart, already felt like it was long overdue.

* * *

By the time Berger reached Claude's room, he was almost jumping out of his skin in anticipation. He still wasn't sure why he'd lied to Sheila, why he hadn't told the others the good news about Claude still being alive. Just... something had held him back, had warned him not to say anything. Maybe it was selfishness, the need to have Claude to himself for once... for a little while. Really, though, that wasn't the whole truth. If the rest of the Tribe, if _Sheila_, knew that he was alive, they'd want to see him. And Claude wasn't ready. He wasn't anywhere _near_ ready for that.

Seeing Dr. Howard walking up the hallway, Berger offered him a wave. The doctor waved back, offered him a small smile in return, "I see you made it. Good. That's very good." Seeing the light in Berger's eye and the bounce he couldn't quite contain, even when standing still, his smile widened, "Boy or a girl, son?"

Berger's smile turned sheepish, "A little girl. Cheryl. She and her mom are doing great, no one killed me when I got back and they were so happy that I _was_ back that they didn't even ask me where I'd been, so I think I'm in the clear."

Clapping Berger on the shoulder, the doctor laughed, "Well, I suppose that's a good thing, isn't it?" At Berger's enthusiastic nod, he laughed again, "So, are you ready for round 2?" Before Berger could answer, he held up a hand, "I should warn you, he's been a bit... agitated... since this morning. His parents came for a visit, the first time they've both come in several months, and... well..." Dr. Howard sighed, "I gather that he and his father weren't on the best of terms before he was drafted and it seems to be worse, now. Usually visits like that end with the poor boy in restraints and drugged. We managed to avoid that this time, but only just barely, and he's been..."

Berger nodded and finished it for him, "...a little agitated since. I got it. It's OK. We'll work it out, somehow."

The doctor unlocked the door, "I'm going to stay out here, son. He doesn't always react to me well, either, especially after a visit from his father. I don't want to make things worse than they already are."

Nodding to show he understood, Berger pushed the door open to enter the room, then allowed it to swing shut behind him. Looking around, he didn't immediately see Claude and his heart rate kicked up a notch in response. Finally, a low growl alerted him to the other man's location. Moving around the bed, he found Claude crouched down into the corner, eyes furious and hands clenching and unclenching rhythmically, as though he were grabbing at something. That low growl continued, only pausing now and then for breath. It was... Jesus, it was actually a little scary.

Getting down on the floor in front of him, Berger tried to make himself as non-threatening as he possibly could, then spoke softly to him, "Hey, Claudio. I told you I'd come back. I hear you had a bit of a rough morning... want to tell me about it?"

Glazed brown eyes slowly shifted away from their fixed position to focus on him. A moment later, the growl quieted, too. His hands, though... they continued their clenching and unclenching. Berger sighed, "Yeah, I know. Believe me, I've spent many a night of my own picturing my hands around your dad's neck. If he hadn't planted all that patriotic responsibility nonsense in your head, you and I would be living it up in Canada right now. None of this war business. Just you and me in the Great White North... curled up in some log cabin by a fireplace, drinking hot coacoa."

Whether it was the sound of Berger's voice or the image he was calling up with his words, Claude's hands finally relaxed, the clenching stopped. Berger breathed a sigh of relief, "That's the way, love. No one's going to hurt you." Turning himself so that he could lean against the wall near Claude, Berger settled in. Smiling at Claude he patted the floor next to him, "Come here." At Claude's skeptical look, Berger sighed, "I told you I'm not gonna hurt you. Come on."

After a few minutes of deliberation and a few more skeptical looks, Claude finally crept from the corner and sat down next to Berger, legs curled tight to his chest and eyes frantically darting around the room from this slightly more exposed vantage point. Berger just smiled as encouragingly as he could, "You know, there are a lot of people who are going to be real happy to see you once you're better, Claudio. We've missed you. We've missed you a lot." Voice quieting, he swallowed hard, "Me most of all, though. Life didn't really seem like it was worth living without you around, man. I'm not proud of what I put everyone through because of it, but I couldn't help it, you know?"

Again, maybe the tone of his voice was what did it or maybe the words themselves, but Claude shifted minutely to bring his body into contact with Berger's, silently offering the support that he couldn't offer directly. Berger's breath shuddered in his throat and he let out a shaky laugh, "Jesus, Claudio. What a pair we make. I don't know which of us is worse off - you or me. It's like the blind leading the fucking blind here." Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, he rubbed tiredly at them, "You're eventually gonna have to give me some sort of hint here, OK? I'm no psychiatrist. I don't know what to do to help you."

Turning, he met Claude's gaze with his own. Those brown orbs were still wary, still uncertain, but there was a small spark of something more. Maybe it was wishful thinking that made Berger think it was recognition, but he didn't think so. On some level, Claude knew who he was, knew that he didn't mean him any harm. He just had to find a way to bring that level back to the forefront.

Letting out a small laugh, Berger let his body lean just a small fraction more against Claude's, "Since it seems like you're digging the strong, silent vibe these days, how about I just talk for a while? You seem to like that... me talking, huh?" At Claude's hesitant smile, Berger laughed again, "Yeah, thought so. It's actually kind of a refreshing change from being told to 'Shut up' all the time, if you wanna know the truth." Taking a deep breath, Berger tipped his head back against the wall, "So, how about a story? I'm not as good at them as Jeanie is, but I can try..." When Claude offered up no further input, Berger smiled, "OK, then. A story it is." A sudden memory swooped down and Berger laughed again, "I just remembered... Claudio, you're going to love this one. It was a few years ago, right before Christmas, and we'd gotten snowed into the city. I was planning on dragging your ass out to play in the snow with me, but you'd gone and gotten yourself sick. Real fucking inconsiderate, you know?"

As Berger slowly spun out the story, interjecting his own thoughts into the narrative every now and then, Claude relaxed further. Once or twice, he even thought he felt the other man's chest move in a silent huff of a laugh. It felt good... beyond good. Even if it took a year, even if he talked himself hoarse, he'd find some way to get through to Claude, some way to get the other man to consciously recognize him again. Somehow, someday... no matter what it took.

* * *

**A/N:** And now for some chibi silliness! :D

Claude: *frowns* Hmm...

R-chan: Oh, come on! It's already better, isn't it?

Claude: *continues to frown*

R-chan: *holds up a finger* You have Berger back, don't you? _And_ you got to cuddle with him.

Berger: *impish grin* Yeah, I liked that part. *frowns* Well, except for the "Claude crying" bit. That, not so much.

Claude: *frowns some more* Exactly.

R-chan: *sigh* *rolls her eyes* It gets-

Claude and Berger: "-better by the end." We know, we know.

R-chan: *twitch* *giggles*

Claude: *rolls his eyes*

_Questions, comments, cauliflower schnitzel?_

Nuriko: *twitch* Running out of four syllabled fruit again?

R-chan: *innocent blinks* No. It's my favorite food and we're having it for dinner tonight.

Nuriko: *double twitch* I'm just not gonna.

* * *

_**Coming Soon:**_ One more step remains to make this trinity whole again... and Fate isn't done playing a part in this story just yet.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry, last few days have been a little exhausting and it was hard to find time to do the last read-through and HTML. :-P But it's done now, so enjoy! ^_^

**Title:** The Algea  
**Fandom:** Hair, the musical: 2009 Revival  
**Pairing:** Berger/Sheila, hints of Claude/Berger, Claude/Berger/Sheila, Claude/Jeanie  
**Rating:** PG-13 for some kissing, R for angst and trauma. Pick your poison. ^_^  
**Word Count:** 33,098  
**Warnings:** Slash. **Angst**. Holy hell, is there angst. O_O Sorry 'bout that. Rebound effect from 'Flesh Failures,' I think...

**Disclaimer:** Neither the musical nor the boys belong to me, if they did they'd be groping each other on sta-. *pause* *blinkblink* Huh. Look at that... they do. *eg* :D _((Hair was written by James Rado and Gerome Ragni with music by Galt MacDermot.))_

**Summary:** Sheila has watched Berger destroying himself for months and finally decides that she can't take any more of it. She's going to save him from himself no matter the cost... or the ultimate prize. Sequel to "Going Down."

**_Juy 23, 2010:_** OK, finally got around to doing final edits and HTMLing on this sucker. ^_^ Hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have! *snugs on a * Happy Unbirthday, again, Ms. Orange21! :-D

And for the record, yes, there will be sequels. I've grown to love this new ficverse and I want to play in it some more. Stay tuned! ^_^

And do remember... comments and reviews are love! ^_^

* * *

**The Algea: Conclusion**  
_by Renee-chan_

He stands by the door, up on tiptoe, anxiously looking out the little window. When he still doesn't see anyone out in the hall, he frowns, glances in the other direction to catch the angle of the sun in the sky. No, he's right. It's time. It's definitely time. So where is he? Eyes growing fretful, he turns back to his silent vigil, watching the hallway for signs of anyone approaching. Still no one comes.

It was a shock, a big shock, all those weeks ago... four and four and- damn it! He thunks his head against the wood of the door in frustration. Three months. It was three months ago. Three months since that day... that day when his life turned around and did cartwheels, handstands, back flips. And it was all because of _him_ - that one last piece to his other life, the one with the long, curly black hair and green, green eyes. The one who knew the word that was _his_ name. Claude - serious, full of emotion, sometimes stern, always him. Claudio - different sounds for the same person, three syllables instead of one... meant for fun, for teasing... for love. And it _is_ love. He feels it every time the other comes around, it flavors the very air around him... him... the one whose word is "Berger"... Banana-Berger... Sexy-Berger. _His_ Berger.

And he comes, faithfully, every day at this hour. So, why isn't he here? He starts pacing, nervously wringing his hands. He counts on Berger, more than he should. He _knows_ better. Don't put your faith in other people. Don't give a damn about them, because they don't give a damn about you. The only way to survive is alone. Don't depend on anyone because they _always_ disappoint you. He knows that, learned those lessons the hard way, learned them well, had them burned into his skin until there was no place to escape them. But still... an earlier lesson, one etched even more deeply, onto his very heart, his soul... fights it off. That lesson? Berger. Remember Berger. Love Berger. Come back to him because he needs you... and you need him. And _that_ is a lesson even more inescapable than the first because he taught it to himself.

And so he waits, terrified that this will be the day that his faith is proven unjustified, that this will be the day when his trust is finally betrayed and what little of him is left is finally destroyed. But he can no more stop waiting, stop hoping than he can gnaw off his own foot. He needs to believe in something and so far, Berger is it.

A noise in the hallway distracts him from his pacing. Is that? Is it? He's back at the door in a heartbeat, looking down the hallway. And this... this is different. Heart beginning to race, he backs away from the door into the corner behind the bed. Why? Why is it different now? Different is bad... Badba- **Damn it!** He slams his head back against the wall once, frustrated with himself over the unfounded panic. He will _not_ meet this change curled up on the floor like a weakling! In that surge of adrenaline, he manages to regain his feet, but can't force himself out of the corner. It will have to do. Have to...

When Berger finally gets into the room, he tosses Claude a beaming smile as he maneuvers the contraption he's brought in with him. Claude forces himself to calm, to listen for the words that are coming, because he knows they are... and maybe they'll explain what's going on here. He can only hope. Because he won't have the strength to put his world back together again if Berger is the one who pulls it apart.

* * *

Berger stared at the trembling figure in the corner and cursed to himself. He _knew_ he shouldn't have stopped at Jeanie's, but he'd left Cheryl's stuffed dog there yesterday and the poor kid had an awful time sleeping without it last night. Of all days for him to throw off Claude's routine, though, it would have to be a day when he was planning on introducing something new. Shit. This wasn't good.

After taking one last peek down at Cheryl to make sure she was still sleeping, Berger left her by the door and walked over to Claude. The other man didn't ever respond in kind, but Berger was pretty sure that he understood most of what was said to him. He could only hope so, because words were all he could give in explanation. Smiling softly, he held out a hand, "Hey, Claudio. Sorry I'm late. I had to stop at Jeanie's to pick something up and it took a little longer to get here than I thought it would. Forgive me?"

Claude took a long, measuring moment, staring back and forth between Berger's outstretched hand and his eyes, before shyly stepping forward and tucking his head against the other man's shoulder. Berger let out a sigh of pure relief as he enfolded Claude in a gentle hug. Thank goodness for small favors. He couldn't lose Claude's trust, not now, not when they'd come so far already.

Before he had a chance to do or say anything else, however, fate sent another curveball his way. A warbling cry from behind him alerted him that Cheryl was awake and unhappy at being in such unfamiliar surroundings with no mother and no father in sight. And Claude, naturally unfamiliar with that noise, jerked away from Berger, eyes wide and more than a little frantic. Seconds later, he was curled back up in his corner, this time on the floor. Berger sighed. _Damn_ it.

After a swift mental debate over which terrified person to soothe first, Berger made the only decision he really could. He crouched down by Claude and put a gentle hand on the other man's bowstring taut shoulder, "Claude, you gotta listen to me, man. She's nothing to be afraid of, all right? I'm going to go over to the carriage and get her, then I'll bring her over here for you to see. She's just a baby. She can't hurt you, all right?"

Though Claude looked anything but convinced, Berger took his stillness as an affirmative and walked over to the carriage. Freeing the little girl from her blankets, Berger cradled her close for a moment, "Hey there, kiddo. I'm here, OK? No need for all this fuss. I didn't leave you. We're just here visiting a friend, all right? He's a very special friend... someone that I love very much, someone who needs me just as much as you do... someone that _I_ need even more than you need me. So, you gotta stop crying so we can make a good first impression, OK?"

He didn't expect that little speech to calm anyone but Cheryl, so no one was more surprised than he when he turned and almost ran straight into Claude who'd crept up behind him. He only managed to avoid that collision by the skin of his teeth. Claude was just standing there, staring down at Cheryl, a look of wonder-laced confusion scrawled all over his face. Once she was in a position to do so, Cheryl returned the scrutiny just as closely. She was always intensely interested in new people, but - and Berger readily admitted to himself that he could just be seeing what he wanted to see here - she seemed to be even more absorbed by Claude than she was by most.

Terrified to break the tableau and set one of the two of them off again, Berger held himself as still as he could. After another few minutes of gentle scrutiny, Cheryl picked up a hand and started grasping in Claude's general direction. Berger almost laughed. Cheryl was certainly a baby who knew what she wanted and didn't hesitate to try to take it - just like her old man. Fortunately, Claude seemed to be over the worst of his fear and seemed to understand that Cheryl meant him no harm. After eyeing her waving hand for a moment, he slowly lifted his in response, bringing it into range of Cheryl's grasping fingers. She immediately latched onto his index finger and giggled in delight. Almost in spite of himself, Claude smiled in response.

When Berger saw that smile, he let out a silent sigh of pure relief. And though it was silent, Claude seemed to hear it just the same. He turned that curiosity-bright gaze on Berger as though asking a question. Berger smiled sheepishly in response, "Claudio, this is Cheryl. She's my daughter." At the continued confusion, Berger explained, "I'm her father."

And _that_ statement didn't go over well. Claude tensed, eyes suddenly anything but happy, and he tried to back away. With the two-handed grip Cheryl had on his finger, though, he didn't get far. Berger sighed. Damn it, he'd known that would be a problem, that Claude had extremely bad associations with that word, but he'd hoped that he might react to it differently in this context. Berger freed one hand from holding Cheryl to tuck it under Claude's chin and turn him back to face him, "Hey, Claudio, it's all right. Not all fathers are bad people, you know. Some of them are good." Huffing out a small laugh, he said, "It's a shame you haven't met mine. He's a great dad. No matter how much shit I shovel on him, he just takes it from me and tosses it away with a smile. Even though I dropped out of his life for almost five years, when I showed back up on his doorstep, he took me back in as though I hadn't been gone a day, helped me get a job, get back on my feet. He never forced me to be anything but what I was. And he loves me, Claude, for who I _am_, not who he wishes I was. You can see it in everything he does. Not all fathers are like yours. Some of them are like mine. OK?"

Though he still looked uncertain, at least he wasn't actively pulling away anymore. Berger smiled at that, "OK." In a sudden fit of inspiration, his smile widened to cat-that-ate-the-canary proportions, "Hey, Claudio... do you want to hold her?"

The last of Claude's uncertainty faded into a look of fear as he shook his head. Berger laughed and patted his shoulder, "Yeah, man, I know that look. Wore it myself the first time Jeanie asked me if I wanted to hold her son and the first time Sheila asked me if I wanted to hold Cheryl. It's scary the first time, but it's worth it. Come on." Walking over to the bed, he sat down and patted the spot next to him.

_Come on, Claudio. You've gotta do this. I know you've got the doctors fooled, but you don't have **me** fooled. I know you're not sleeping here, but maybe if I can distract you, we can at least get you to sit here._ Putting on the most sweetly innocuous smile that he could manage, Berger patted that spot again. And wonder of wonders... Claude sat, eyes focused on Cheryl the whole time.

Once he was situated, Berger didn't give him time to think about it, just turned and plopped Cheryl right into the other man's arms. Claude froze, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. Berger just laughed and patted his shoulder, "Ease up, there, Claudio. She's not gonna break." Claude's eyes flickered accusingly over to him, then focused back on the child in his arms. Cheryl cooed and burbled happily up at him, little fists waving. Berger just watched, surprised by how right this felt. There was just something about it, about sitting here watching Claude hold his child... Swallowing around a sudden hard lump in his throat, Berger wiped surreptitiously at his eyes. How often had he imagined this back when they were younger? A chance to be with Claude... to be a family... There was a not-so-small part of him that kept expecting to wake up from this, as though it were a dream... or one damned fine trip.

Shifting closer, Berger leaned his head against Claude's shoulder, almost unconsciously seeking the warmth of contact, needing to reassure himself that this was real. And Claude responded, leaning back into his touch like he always used to. For just one moment it felt like they had gone backwards in time, back to a time before Claude was drafted, before Berger had managed to so thoroughly mess himself up... just _before_. Hardly daring to believe that amongst all the fucked up crap going on between the two of them that he could have managed to create a moment that was so very _right_, Berger had to catch his breath at the wonder of it. Caught up in that odd feeling of time warp, when Claude finally started to relax, Berger decided to take a chance. He lifted his left leg up onto the bed and scooted himself sideways to settle it behind and around Claude, shifted himself so that he was sitting behind the other man and wrapped his arms around him. Claude, rather than jumping at the enclosing embrace like he'd been wont to do these last months, settled back into it with a happy sigh, like how he used to before the war.

Berger squeezed his eyes shut tightly, firmly telling himself that crying would be a totally inappropriate response, no matter how much he might want to indulge in it. Instead, he just tucked his face into the crook of Claude's neck, into that one spot... _his_ spot... and placed a soft, gentle kiss there. They would get through this. Somehow, they would... and he would have his Claude back. Not much longer, now... Berger could feel it.

* * *

Sheila frowned as she watched Berger. The other man was fidgety, unsettled... agitated. He kept eyeing the clock, frowning, then jumping up to pace the room. She couldn't imagine what it was that was getting under his skin so badly, but whatever it was, he was going to have to settle soon. After two more rounds of this behavior, she finally snapped out at him, "Berger! Our company's going to be here in a little more than an hour, but you don't have to watch the clock until they get here. Now will you just calm down, please?"

Berger jumped, turned wide eyes on her, "I... I just..." He fumbled, looking for words that he clearly wasn't finding. Finally he made a frustrated noise and tugged at his hair, "Look, I just need to go out for a little bit. Forty minutes... An hour, tops, OK?" Walking over to the couch, he dropped to his knees in front of her, hands resting in supplication on her legs, "Please, Sheila? I'll be back before everyone gets here, OK?"

Sighing, Sheila shook her head, "I could use you here, Berger. We still have a lot to do before everyone arrives - getting the hors d'oeuvres ready, getting Cheryl up from her nap... I can't do it all myself."

Eyes narrowing in frustration, Berger lurched to his feet to pace the room again. Sheila just waited. She'd planned the timing on Cheryl's six month birthday get-together on purpose. Maybe it was cruel, maybe it was petty, but Berger wasn't _talking_ to her and she needed to get to the bottom of it. At about 1:30 every afternoon - sometimes with Cheryl, sometimes without - Berger would disappear for a few hours. He never said where he was going, never told her anything about it when he got back. She knew he wasn't at work, because she'd stopped by the store to find out. She knew he wasn't with any of the other Tribe members because she'd asked. And, damn it, she'd had enough of the secrets! So, she'd planned this gathering for 3 PM, knowing that this very thing would happen... and hoping that she could force him to tell her what he'd been hiding all these months.

After another few minutes of fidgeting and a few more anxiously darted glances at the clock, Berger turned to face her, a plea in his eyes, "Sheila, you don't understand. He counts on me... he needs me to be there. Two o'clock, every day. He _depends_ on it. When I'm late, when I don't show..." Rushing back over, he grabbed Sheila's hands, "Sheila, I _have_ to go!"

At the sheer desperation in Berger's eyes, G-d help her, Sheila almost gave in right there. Instead, she forced herself to grip Berger's hands in return and ask the questions, "_Who_ depends on you, Berger? Where do you go every day?"

And that was the moment when Berger saw the trap closing on him. Eyes widening in horror, then narrowing in accusation, he pulled his hands out of Sheila's grip, "**No**. I can't... Sheila, I can't tell you. Not yet. He isn't ready. Sheila, he's not _ready_." And again, that pleading was back in his eyes. It about broke Sheila's heart to see it.

Sighing, she rubbed a hand against her forehead, "Isn't ready for what, Banana-Berger?"

Swallowing hard, Berger sat down next to her, "_You_, Sheila. He isn't ready for you... for any of you. He barely handles Cheryl, for goodness' sake."

Turning, Sheila took Berger's hand into hers, blue eyes locking with deep green in entreaty, "Please, baby... **who**?"

Looking more defeated than she'd seen him in a year, Berger closed his eyes and whispered, "Claude."

Sheila's eyes blazed and she dropped Berger's hand, lurching to her feet to do some pacing of her own. G-d... he sounded so damned _sincere_, like he actually believed... Rounding back on him, she clenched her hands, "Damn it, Berger, that's not funny!" To her embarrassment, a few tears leaked free from her eyes before she could stop them.

Berger rose to his feet in front of her, hurt innocence in his very posture, "Sheila, it's not a joke! Why do you think I didn't tell you?" She opened her mouth to say something but he ran right over her, "I'm not lying to you. That letter... the one you got from Claude's mom... she never said that he _died_. We all just assumed!" Seeing that he had her for now, Berger rushed onward, "It was the night Cheryl was born. I'd wandered off into the hospital and Sheila, I swear to G-d, he literally ran me down in the hallway." Pausing to laugh bitterly, Berger buried his hands in his hair, "Shit. He was so messed up, Sheila, he didn't even really know me. He was more animal than human..."

At that, his voice choked up and he had to pause in his narrative - not that it mattered. Sheila couldn't have interrupted him then if her life depended on it. When he managed to get his voice back under control, it was barely a whisper, "I don't know what he went through over there to do that to him, Sheila... but it must have been so awful..." For the first time since he started speaking, Berger raised his eyes to meet hers and they were shining bright with an echo of the tears that she was now freely shedding. Swallowing hard, he started to speak again, "But he's been getting better... he really has! And Cheryl just adores him... and he her. But he isn't ready for everyone else, Sheila - not yet. And I don't know if he could take another set-back... I mean, Jesus, he still isn't even talking, you know?"

Sheila nodded, "OK... let's... let's just say I believe you, all right, Banana-Berger? Let's say that I believe you... I still want to see him." Before he could say anything, she held up a hand, "He doesn't have to see me! I just..." Her eyes filled with tears again, "Please... I just want to see him, just once, for myself, OK? Please..."

Berger's eyes widened and he stepped closer, drawn in by Sheila's tears the way he was by almost nothing else. He took her into his arms and nodded against her hair, "OK. We'll... we'll go over there and we'll let you see him... and we'll see how it goes, OK?"

Sheila didn't waste another minute. She gave Berger a firm, almost bruising kiss, then ran into the kitchen to call Jeanie and ask her to call down the phone chain that the party was going to be delayed and that she'd call when she got home. She felt a momentary pang about not telling the other woman the rest of it, but she fought it off. If Berger was right - and wasn't hallucinating - then Claude wasn't ready for the whole Tribe to come beating down his door yet. As she hung up the phone, she leaned her head against the wall momentarily, one hand pressed to her mouth as a hysterical giggle tried to force its way past her lips. It was silly really, stupid... but even the possibility of Claude still being alive made her feel as giddy as a schoolgirl about to go on a date with her first crush. Once she'd gotten herself back under control, she went into Cheryl's room and gently tucked her into her carriage. When she wheeled her out into the living room, Berger already had the door open and was almost bouncing in his need to be out it and away. Sheila didn't waste another minute. After all this time, she wasn't wasting another _second_. Not anymore, not ever again.

* * *

He paces the room, nervous. Two o'clock has come and gone - it came and went almost fifteen minutes ago, in fact. What could be keeping Berger? Ten steps... turn. Another ten steps... turn. Look at the clock. It still reads 2:16. Damn it. Where the hell is he? Ten steps... turn. It's not like him to be late. Check that. It's not like him to be late without good _cause_. And it's stupid, really. It should be OK for him to be late every now and then. He shouldn't feel this heart-racing panic when the hour rolls on by without him being there. But he does. Every time that clock strikes two, if Berger isn't there, his heart starts to speed up, to beat this tattoo of panic against his breastbone. And if Berger isn't there by 2:01? That's it. All bets are off and his heart doesn't stop its racing until Berger is finally safely in the room with him.

He'd call, wouldn't he? He'd find some way to let him know if he wasn't coming. He _knows_ how much Claude depends on him, knows how much he needs him to be here every day. Dr. Howard says it isn't healthy, that he shouldn't depend so much on the other man, but he can't help it. Berger is the one constant thing that he can hold onto in this upside down life of his that has spun so rapidly out of control. He's the only thing that Claude has left to remind him that he wasn't always like this... wasn't crazy. That he had control once, that he was a whole person, that he wasn't afraid to leave the confines of this tiny, tiny room that feels more and more like a cage with each passing day.

In a fit of frustration, Claude looks at the clock again - 2:17. Damn it! Pacing back over to the door, he yanks it open this time, takes a step into the hall, looks back and forth... no Berger. Jerking himself back inside, he slams the door closed, paces back and forth a few more times. He looks up at the clock again - 2:19. He's never been this late before.

Heart and steps freezing in sudden panic, Claude turns slowly to face the door. What if... what if something happened to him? His heart starts to pound again. What if Berger is hurt? What if he's lying in the street somewhere, bleeding, broken, in painpainpain, waiting for Claude to find him? What if... what if _he_ needs _Claude_ this time? He's back at the door in a flash, yanking it back open and stepping out into the hall.

He looks up and down the hallway, hoping beyond hope that Berger will just suddenly appear at one end or the other... but he doesn't. Nothing is ever that easy. Nothing... Breath speeding up, he turns up the hallway that Berger always arrives by, takes another step and another. He doesn't know what's outside this room, doesn't know what lies at the end of the hallway or outside the hospital, but if Berger needs him he is _not_ going to let the other man down.

Several more steps down the hall there is a desk. The nurses are littered about it in their whitewhite uniforms and their squeaky shoes, squeaking back and forth at each other in their high pitched voices. Dr. Howard is there, too, startles when he sees Claude. Several of the orderlies are also there. Two of them step forward, ready to corral him in and take him back to his little room. Claude drops into a fighting stance, eyes blazing with determination, a feral growl in his throat. No one is going to stop him from finding Berger, from helping him - especially not a pair of orderlies that he's taken down at least twice before.

Dr. Howard steps between them, stops the bigger men before they can make a move they'll all regret. He then turns back to Claude, "Claude... what are you doing out here? You know you aren't supposed to leave your room alone."

Claude whimpers, frustrated. He has the words, he knows he does, but they're locked up in his throat and he can't force them out, especially not now when he can barely maintain coherent _thoughts_. Finally he gestures up at the clock, turns pleading eyes on the doctor, willing him to understand. Dr. Howard turns to look where Claude pointed, then looks back at the taller man. His eyes widen in abrupt understanding, "Your friend is late, isn't he?" Looking back up at the clock, he frowns, "He's _very_ late." Nodding to himself, he turns to one of the nurses, asks her to keep a look-out for Berger and page him if he shows up, then he turns back to Claude, "Well, if you've been brave enough to come this far, why don't we take it a little further, hmm? I'll go with you."

Relieved beyond measure that not only did the doctor not stop him but is even willing to _help_, Claude can only nod. Dr. Howard falls into step next to him, lets him take the lead. It's inefficient, Claude knows that. If he could just _ask_ the doctor how to get to the main entrance... but he can't. He just _can't_. So, instead he looks, puts long-rusty skills in recon to use. After a few false turns, Claude hits the jackpot - a stairwell. Pulling open the door, he looks at the number inside the stairwell. It's a '3.' Third floor. They're on the third floor. The main entrance should be on the ground floor - on the first floor. Two flights.

A hand on his arm stops him before he can get any further. Dr. Howard frowns, "Claude... on second thought, I'm not sure this is a great idea. Why don't we head back to your room and wait?"

Claude jerks his arm away from the doctor's grasping hand, bares his teeth in warning. The doctor holds his hands up and sighs. Recognizing that as a yield, Claude nods once, turns back to the stairs, races down them as quickly as he can so as to not be stopped again. Once on the main floor and out of the stairwell, however, he freezes. There are so many _people_ down here! Scared and confused, he backs up against the wall, shaking. How is he going to find Berger in all this mess?

Dr. Howard's hand is back on his arm now, gentle words murmuring in his ear like a brook over stones. Go back upstairs. Go back to your room. Don't push yourself. He's been listening to those words for a year now. Those words haven't helped. _Berger_ helped. Berger, who might even now be out there _dying_... alone... No! Pushing away from the wall and Dr. Howard, Claude makes his way into the crowd of people. He gets more than his fair share of strange looks as he goes. Wild eyes, wild hair barely contained in a ponytail at the nape of his neck, tee-shirt and sweatpants... no shoes or socks. No doubt, he's a strange picture. He doesn't care. He's just grateful that most of them get out of the way when they see him coming. He pushes aside the few that don't.

After another few minutes, it becomes apparent that Berger isn't here. Claude makes his way back over to the wall, then pauses. There is writing on the wall... Squinting, he drags out another long disused skill and doggedly works his way through the letters and symbols. An 'E' and an 'R' and an arrow pointing to the right. ER... In a flash of insight, he remembers: Emergency Room! And the arrow shows you which way to go to get there! Almost bouncing in his sudden excitement, he continues down the row: ER, Maternity, Psychiatric - at that one, he frowns. The arrow points back the way they came and there is a '3' next to it. That must be where he came from. Psychiatric... that's crazy people. With a sigh, he shakes his head. He can't exactly deny that it's true. He knows he's nuts. He's known it for a while... but he's working on it, getting better - because of Berger. Abruptly shaking his head he refocuses on the list. It doesn't matter, now. Nothing matters but finding Berger.

There! 'Exit' - that's what he's looking for. And he was right, it is on this floor. Turning in the direction that the arrow points, Claude takes off, Dr. Howard hot on his heels. There are more signs, some indicating to keep going, some to turn in a different direction, but he's got the way of it now, stays on track. And finally... there it is. A room even larger than the one he came down into, this one is veritably _packed_ with people. And right in front of him at the other end are two large glass doors... and he can see the street beyond them.

Dr. Howard reaches out a hand to grab him, but he twists out of the way, ducks down to lose himself in the crowd, makes his way to those doors. Once there, though, he stops. He has to. Pressed against the glass, he stares out at the hustle and bustle of the street... and he _knows_ it. It's another piece of his former life - this street is near the college... near NYU. He... he's _home_? Abruptly losing strength, Claude sinks down to the floor, still pressed to the glass. Has he been home all this time and didn't know it? How could he not have known it? His parents were here. _Berger_ was here. How could he have thought he was anywhere _but_ New York?

Shaking, he pulls himself up again, drinking in the sights out that glass, drawing in the energy of the city outside those doors, taking strength from it. Dr. Howard reaches him then, puts a gentle hand on his back, "Good for you, son. I should have given you more credit. I didn't think you could do it, didn't think you were ready. I was wrong. But now... we really should get you back upstairs, all right?"

Claude shakes off that hand, well-intentioned though it is, then turns pleading eyes on the doctor. He isn't ready. He needs to stay here, take it all in, for just a little longer. And still... there's Berger. He isn't fool enough to think that he can barge out onto the streets of Manhattan and find the other man if he truly is lost and injured... but he can wait here, hoping that he still might come. Understanding, as usual, Dr. Howard just pats him on the shoulder and nods. Claude turns back to watching the street, ignoring it when Dr. Howard sits in a nearby chair and pulls out his pad to take notes.

Claude doesn't know how long they wait there, he can't see the sun from here and there is no clock, but all of a sudden, he sees something that brings him out of his mesmerized staring. Edging out of the corner of the doorway that he's retreated into, he presses himself back against the glass. It's _him_. He's pushing Cheryl's carriage and arguing with a blonde woman. There's something about that woman... Claude thinks he should know her, feels his heart speed up in panic when he can't bring her name to mind. But it doesn't matter. What matters is that Berger is _here_ and he's _alive_ and uninjured. He's OK... thank G-d, he's OK... Claude is almost ready to cry with the sheer relief he feels bubbling up inside him at the sight. It's a surge of feeling so intense that it needs- no. It _demands_ an outlet. The minute that the other man is safely within the confines of the building, Claude launches himself at him, wrapping his arms tightly around him and soaking the other man's shoulder with his tears. Hoarsely, barely coherent, he sobs one word into his shoulder, over and over again, "Berger!"

* * *

Berger was about ready to hand off the carriage to Sheila and send her back to the apartment. They'd argued the entire way here: which subway to take, which street to walk up, every little thing that Sheila could nitpick at, she did. And Berger understood. She was nervous and this was how she dealt with nerves, by bossing other people around. But that didn't help when she insisted on taking a particular subway line, in spite of Berger telling her they couldn't, just to find out that there was no way to get the carriage down the stairs. She'd apologized, but it had set them back another fifteen minutes - fifteen minutes when they didn't even have one to spare. Glancing down at his watch, Berger cursed. It was already 2:32. Thank G-d they were almost at their destination.

When they rounded the corner and saw the hospital in sight, he let out a sigh of relief. Then Sheila started pausing at every window to catch her reflection and check her hair - as if that _mattered!_ And, all at once, Berger had had enough. Grabbing her hand firmly in his, he tucked it under his arm and started pushing the carriage with the other hand. Certainly, she had a few things to say about that, but at that moment, he couldn't have cared less if he tried - though he'd have been willing to make the effort if it would have gotten them moving faster.

He was so focused on Sheila, in fact, that he didn't initially take notice when they passed through the doors to the hospital. But he came back to himself right quickly when a man lunged at him from the side of the doors and locked his arms around his neck. Berger froze. His body knew this embrace, though it took his mind a moment to catch up. Seeing Dr. Howard get up out of a nearby chair was the final clincher... but what the hell was Claude doing all the way down here? Pushing those questions aside, he focused on the sobbing man in his arms, silently intoning every curse word he could think of. He _knew_ he'd been pushing it, _knew_ he should have just up and left when Sheila got fussy at him. _This_ was the very situation he'd been trying to avoid. _Fuck_.

Pulling the other man close, he opened his mouth to start murmuring his usual words of reassurance when another voice stopped him in his tracks. It was hoarse, rusty from disuse, barely recognizable, but Berger knew it - knew it to the marrow of his bones. It was Claude's. And the one word he spoke, over and over again into the tear-soaked collar of his shirt, was Berger's name. Quietly, in awe, he answered back in kind, "Claudio...? Claudio... you... you really know me...?"

Claude nodded his head frantically against the other man's shoulder, clutching him even more tightly to him. He didn't seem inclined to speak any other words than the one he'd already spoken, but it was still more than Berger had been able to get him to speak in a year. He couldn't imagine being any more excited than this when Cheryl started to talk. No way. He laughed in delight, leaned back to look into Claude's red-rimmed eyes, "You were worried about me, huh, Claudio? You came all the way down here just to find me, didn't you?"

A hesitant smile started to peek through the sadness on Claude's face and he shyly nodded, only now starting to understand that he'd done something good - something that had made Berger proud... and happy. Berger laughed again, eyes twinkling. Completely overcome by that shy smile and forgetting himself for just a moment, he leaned forward, placed a gentle kiss on Claude's lips.

At the sudden stillness in the other man's body, though, he froze. _Oh crap. Oh no. That was dumb. He didn't need you to do something so unexpected! Shit!_ He had barely enough time to complete those thoughts and try to pull away before his head was firmly bracketed by a larger pair of hands and that other pair of lips pressed firmly back against his. It was clumsy - G-d it was clumsier than any kiss they'd shared since their first - but it was from _Claude_ and that made it perfect. He didn't stop to think anymore, didn't care that Sheila was staring, didn't care that Dr. Howard was gaping like a landed fish from behind Claude's shoulder, didn't care that they were gathering a crowd. It didn't _matter_.

He reached up, pulled Claude's hands down from his face to rest on his shoulders - a grip that the other man quickly shifted to lock his arms around Berger's neck - and raised his own hands up to cup Claude's face, to run his fingers through the other man's hair, down his cheeks. Eventually, he let one hand drop to Claude's waist as the other found a nesting place in the other man's hair, gently turning him to rest his back against the wall next to the door as he fought to gentle the desperation in that initial lock of lips. It was a bad idea, he knew that, knew that Claude wasn't really ready for this, but _G-d_ it had been so long... and he needed his Claude back so very badly... he couldn't have stopped if he tried. And he sure as hell didn't want to try.

In a way, it was like their first kiss all over again, pure emotion and need, and there was a bundle of nerves dancing around in his belly. He remembered that kiss, how he'd known even then that he wanted more from Claude than he'd ever wanted from anyone else, how he'd been so terrified of scaring the older boy away that he'd hesitated... and George Berger didn't hesitate. And then, like now, it had been Claude who finally had the courage to cross that final bridge. But that wasn't to say that Berger was above taking advantage now that it had happened.

The frenzied kisses slowed, gentled, became deeper. To Berger's surprise it was Claude who parted his lips first, teased his tongue into the corner of Berger's mouth. He huffed out a small laugh at the ticklish sensation, a laugh that quickly turned into a soft moan when Claude took advantage of his now-open mouth.

They stayed that way, pressed against the wall, exchanging deep, leisurely kisses, for several minutes. It wasn't until Cheryl abruptly woke from her nap and let out a cranky little cry that they broke apart. Berger rested his head against Claude's shoulder, willing his heart to settle down, laughing when he felt the rapid-patter beat of Claude's heart mirroring his own. When he finally managed to force his gaze upwards to meet the other man's, Claude's eyes were smiling, at peace in a way that they hadn't been since Berger had found him six months ago. Berger just smiled back, for once unable to think of anything to say in response.

Unsurprisingly, it was Sheila who found something to say. Her soft voice whispered from behind him, full of tears and wavering, as she borrowed a line that had often been Claude's, "G-d... you guys are beautiful together."

At those words, Claude's head turned, his body tensed. Berger watched, helpless to do anything about it as Claude frowned, mouth working, eyes frustrated. And again it was Cheryl who broke the tableau. From her new vantage point in Sheila's arms, she spotted Claude and reached out her hands to him, face smiling and eyes twinkling. Claude couldn't help it - he smiled right back and reached out his own arms to the little girl. As always, the sight made Berger's lips stretch into a goofy grin of their own. He loved how his little girl loved Claude... loved how she gravitated towards him whenever she was around him... loved how he seemed to adore her right back.

Bemused, Sheila handed the child over. Cheryl immediately squealed in delight and reached up to tangle her hands in Claude's hair. Berger secretly suspected that Claude had refused to let the doctor have it cut because he had seen how much Cheryl enjoyed yanking on Berger's hair and wanted her to be able to yank on his, as well. He wouldn't put it past him. Claude indulged Cheryl's every whim as best he was able, just like he always had her father's. Claude smiled down at her, pressing gentle kisses to her face and tummy, making her laugh. It was at one particularly loud giggle that Claude abruptly frowned, stared into the girl's eyes, then jerked his gaze back upwards to look at Berger, then at Sheila. His mouth worked again, then his eyes widened. A look of complete awe on his face, he took a step forward, hand outstretched towards the other blonde as he spoke his second word of the year, "Sheila?"

And poor Sheila... she clapped both hands over her mouth in an effort to contain... something. The sob that slipped out a moment later made mockery of the attempt. The giggle that slipped out after it was just insult added to injury. Another moment later and she was laughing and crying at the same time, completely unable to make a coherent response. Claude's eyes grew worried, confused, at that outburst of emotion, but he stood fast, arm outstretched and waiting, confident, for once, that he'd made no mistake. When Sheila eventually calmed enough, she took that hand in both of hers and pressed a kiss to the knuckles, "G-d, I've missed you, Claude! I can't even tell you how much. We all have."

Claude turned, looked away from Sheila to find Berger. The other man just smiled encouragingly, stepping up close to the other two to wrap an arm around each. And it felt so very right... He'd loved having Claude all to himself, he wouldn't lie to himself and deny that selfish need, but even he could admit that there was something about the three of them... they had always balanced each other so well. He'd missed this, missed the perfect symmetry of the three of them together. And Cheryl, caught in the middle of their three-way embrace, just kept turning circles to look at each of them, cooing and giggling in joy. Even an innocent child could feel the love tying the three of them together. Buoyed by that love and more at peace than _he'd_ been in three years, Berger snuggled into the embrace and, for the first time in a long time, let someone else support him. And it was wonderful... it was perfect... and Berger didn't want it ever to end. And Berger _always_ got what he wanted.

* * *

**A/N:** And now for some chibi silliness! :D

Claude: *frowns* Hmm...

R-chan: *twitch* Oh, you can't tell me that the end wasn't better!

Berger: *beams* Personally, I loved it.

Claude: *frowns*

R-chan: *sighs* Well, now what's the problem?

Berger: *eyes Claude for a minute, then laughs and pokes him in the shoulder* *singsongs* I think _I_ know!

Claude: *blushes, ducks his head*

R-chan: *eyes Claude and an evilly smirking Berger* *massive blush* _No_. Trust me, I'm no good at smut, you don't even want me to go there, OK?

Claude: *sigh* Well, you can't blame a guy for trying, can you? And really, after this one, you bloody well owe me!

R-chan: *blushes more* *squeaks* I'll think about it! *runs away*

Berger: *just laughs*

Questions, comments, honeydew?


End file.
